


Whitewaters

by zacekova



Series: What Came From The Headwater [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Because clones, Canon-Typical Violence, Clones, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Identity Issues, M/M, Romance, Sexuality Crisis, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shirocest, Shirocest Big Bang 2019, Suicidal Thoughts, post season five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-07-30 17:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 58,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacekova/pseuds/zacekova
Summary: One week ago Lance took a dream ride through the Black Lion’s consciousness and brought Shiro back into the land of the living and corporeal. One week ago, the man who thought he was Shiro looked into a face identical to his own and realized it was actually the other way around. He’s not Shiro. And he doesn’t belong here.Maybe he doesn’t belong anywhere.Sequel toAnabranch, but can be read as a standalone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The _Anabranch_ sequel is here! This came to you a lot sooner than it otherwise would have (if it had happened at all) because the Shirocest Bang came to my attention back in December and I couldn't turn down the opportunity to motivate myself to finish this _and_ get some art made for this story that I have been excited about writing for a whole year now. 
> 
> This is the biggest writing project I've ever completed by about ten thousand words, and it has been thrilling and stressful to produce the equivalent of a small novel in just seven months with only a rough outline waiting for me when I joined the bang. I am so excited to get this out into the world, especially for those of you who read _Anabranch_ and were hoping for more in this universe. 
> 
> My artist is [ImpendingExodus](https://impendingexodus.tumblr.com/), and she has made some gorgeous pieces for this fic. Make sure to follow the links to her posts on tumblr and like and share! 
> 
> If you know [Hymn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn), then you know she's my beta for everything I write that's worth reading. She has been my guardian angel with this fic, filling in all the gaps I can't see and helping me sort out the messes and just being an all around godsend of a beta. She made this story about thousand times better and I cannot thank her enough for the hours and hours she has poured into reading through this thing with a fine-toothed comb. I would not be nearly so confident and excited about sharing this story if it weren't for your help!

The castle has three hundred and fifty-seven doors. Two hundred of those doors open to bedrooms, suites, and bunkrooms, and the closets and bathrooms inside them. Another two dozen open up to familiar and well-used spaces — the bridge, the training deck, the kitchen, the lounge. The ship has twenty levels with an airlock on every one, an unstocked kitchen and mess hall for the ship’s crew, two shuttle bays, one ballroom, a dozen offices and conference rooms, and five Lion hangars. 

Some of the places Ro’s explored once and not gone back; some of them he avoided from the start, not wanting to run into anyone. And some — like the room with three walls made of thick, invisible glass looking out onto the passing stars and moons and nebulae — he’s come back to again and again and again, staring out into space until he isn’t sure what day it is anymore. 

There’s nothing else to do but wander the castle — aimless, purposeless - and even that gets boring eventually. 

Ro sighs, tipping his head back and staring up at the ceiling. 

It’s late. Late enough that everyone should be asleep — himself included — but that means the kitchen should be empty, finally, so Ro gets up to find something to eat. 

He’s been doing this for almost a week now, sneaking around during the quiet hours of the night so he doesn’t have to talk to anyone and wandering the castle the rest of the time so no one can hunt him down in his room. 

_ Shiro’s  _ room. 

_ Fuck. _

It’s been something like a week since Lance took a dream ride through the Black Lion’s consciousness and brought Shiro back into the land of the living and corporeal. A week since Shiro — since  _ Ro _ — realized he’s  _ not S _ hiro. He’s someone or some _ thing _ else. 

Despite their quick reassurances that first day — that they would figure things out — the others have been unbearably awkward and uncertain around him since then. Maybe it’s because now they’ve had the time to process, to think about who or what Ro really is and why he’s here, and all the easy camaraderie they’d achieved has melted away. Ro’s starting to feel like nothing so much as a stranger in what  _ was  _ his home.

He doesn’t blame them. He doesn’t trust himself either. 

Ro roots around in the “space fridge,” hoping there’s some leftovers of whatever it was he smelled Hunk cooking when he’d meandered near the kitchen several hours ago. He scarfs down a few mouthfuls and then shoves the rest back into the fridge before heading back toward his room to lock himself in for the rest of the night. 

Maybe he’ll even be able to get some sleep. 

No one decided to uproot him from the Black Paladin room, for some reason; Allura put Shiro in the closest guest suite, around the corner from the other Paladins’ rooms and bigger, but less personal, farther away from everything. It’s really where they should have put  _ Ro  _ and he can’t decide if the comfort of a familiar room outweighs the tension of having to tiptoe through the hall past the other Paladins’ rooms to avoid them. 

He gets back to his room and takes a short shower, throwing on the shirt and pants he uses as pajamas. 

There’s a knock at the door. 

For a long moment Ro just stares at it, wondering if he should even answer — it could be important, maybe, but if it were truly urgent Allura would have called him over the comms. 

He’s still debating when the knock comes again and Ro grits his teeth and moves to open the door. 

It’s Shiro, expression neutral and arms folded over his chest, and his is voice even —  _ emotionless _ — when he speaks. “Hi.” 

Ro watches him for a second, waiting, but Shiro doesn’t offer up any explanation as to why he’s here, so a fter a long moment of dithering Ro decides he’d rather be behind a closed door when he hears whatever Shiro wants to say. H e steps back and gestures for Shiro to come in, and then leans against the opposite wall, mirroring Shiro’s closed off posture. 

Shiro stays just inside the closed door, eyes averted and shadowed. He looks tired — not much better than he had that first night — and pale and awkward in his body. Like he’s not used to it.

“I, uh, wanted to check in, see how you were doing,” Shiro says finally, gaze flicking over to Ro and away again, never quite looking him in the eye. 

Ro frowns. “Why?” 

“Because it’s my job,” Shiro says, firm and assured. “I need to take care of my team.” 

“I’m not on the team,” Ro counters, heart thumping painfully in his chest. Checking in with the team still feels like  _ his _ job and it’s been torture for the last few days ignoring the intrinsic need he has to do it. 

Shiro’s expression pinches, and he goes silent for a moment. “You… you  _ were _ ,” he says slowly, more like a question and no longer hard with conviction. 

Ro pushes down the desire to scoff and shakes his head instead. “Past tense. As in, not anymore, which means there’s no real reason to check in with me. So why are you here?” 

Shiro’s frown deepens, seemingly debating whether to answer. “I… wanted to know if something happened between you and Lance,” he says eventually, and it might have sounded apologetic if it weren’t for the suspicion lingering in his eyes. 

Ro blinks, unease sinking his stomach. “I haven’t seen Lance since the day you came back.” 

“No,” Shiro shakes his head, “I meant while I was gone.” 

Ro flinches, remembering losing his temper and treating Lance like a child, and then apologizing later and watching something slowly start to bloom between them. Goofing off and flirting -- because they were definitely flirting, weren’t they? -- during missions, playing  _ Killbot Phantasm II _ until the wee hours of the morning, and realizing how valuable a second-in-command Lance was, how adaptable and optimistic and tenacious he is. He remembers wishing and hoping and  _ dreaming _ for something more, but knowing that something was  _ wrong _ with him and it wasn’t right to ask anything of Lance while he was still figuring it out. So he never had.

“No,” Ro finally says, shaking his head and resisting the urge to press a palm against the ache in his chest. “No, nothing happened. Why are you asking?” 

“The way you two were together the day I got back...” Shiro says, brows knitting together. “Lance and I weren’t like that before. We weren’t… close.” 

Ro closes his eyes and swallows, throat tightening. “I know.” 

“You  _ know _ ?” Shiro asks, tone sharp. 

Ro opens his eyes again and frowns. “Like I said that day — I thought I was you, I’ve got all the same memories. So if you’re worried I made a move on Lance, there’s no need. Nothing happened.” 

“You were acting pretty intimate for ‘nothing’ happening,” Shiro says, gaze hardening.

Ro’s heart gives a silent pang, remembering how attentive and gentle and kind Lance was that day — sitting close, squeezing his hand in reassurance, swearing to Ro that everything would be okay. It was barely a taste of what he’d hoped they’d have some day. 

“We’re just friends,” Ro says, voice rasping. “We’re not any closer than you and Keith are.” 

Shiro’s jaw clenches and he searches Ro’s face for a long moment before gritting out, “But you want to be.” 

Ro laughs, wry and pained. “Of course I do. I have from the beginning.” 

“You’re not me!” Shiro shouts, eyes flashing, and he points a trembling finger at Ro’s face. “Those are  _ my _ feelings,  _ my _ memories! You don’t have a right to them!” 

Ro shakes his head, leaning all of his weight into the wall at his back, not in denial, but in confusion. All the memories in his head, everything he believes and knows and remembers is familiar, is  _ important _ . He thought it was all  _ his _ . But it’s not, none of it is his, it can’t be his, not when the proof of that fact is standing right in front of him. 

It all still  _ feels  _ like his, though. 

  
“It’s all in my head,” Ro whispers, almost more to himself than to Shiro. “It’s all in  _ my _ head, too. It all feels like me.”

“It’s  _ not _ ,” Shiro snarls, suddenly too close and shoving him back against the wall. “It’s not yours! You’re not even real, just some  _ thing _ Haggar grew in her lab!” And then his hands fly off Ro’s shoulders like he’s been burned and he backs away. 

Ro stills, pressing his shaking palms against the wall and just staring. Shiro’s eyes flash rapidly through a series of emotions Ro can’t identify, looking down at his hands and clenching and relaxing them over and over. He looks lost, confused maybe, but Ro doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t want to keep seeing this face that he both knows and doesn’t know in all the ways that make his gut clench with unease. 

“Well,” he rasps, fighting to keep his head up, to not look away, “when you decide whether or not you’re going to kick me off the ship or kill me, let me know. Until then, please, just… go away.” 

Shiro stares at him for a long moment, silent and unreadable, and then he turns on his heel and walks out without another word.    
  


~~~ 

He doesn’t sleep much that night, drifting in and out of consciousness a few times but not getting any decent rest from it. The last time he wakes up it’s with a strangled choke, lungs sucking in air and stomach lurching as he throws himself off the bed onto his hands and knees. Ro shakily lowers himself all the way down to the floor — the plasteel surface cool against his flushed skin — and tries to get his breath back without vomiting. 

This is why he’s barely slept since…  _ since _ . It’s just not a good idea. Too many nights of seeing his mirror image staring back at him, grinning viciously as it finds and steals and  _ destroys  _ everything that’s his, everything that’s  _ him _ , and what right does he even have to  _ that _ nightmare?  _ Ro’s _ the monster who steals lives away. 

But whatever or whoever he is, he’s still human enough to need sleep. Ro’s memories may not be his own, but he’s learned that his limits are about the same as Shiro’s, which means he’d needed to at least  _ try _ to get a full eight hours last night. He hadn’t managed even close to that, but the results of his effort should get him through another twenty-four hours, probably, if he doesn’t push himself too much. 

Eventually, Ro drags himself off the floor and into the shower — throwing his shirt over the mirror on his way — and then slips out into the hall as quietly as he can once he’s dressed. It’ll still be another thirty minutes before any of the other Paladins start waking up, so this is his best chance to sit and eat undisturbed. 

Except as soon as he’s sat down with his bowl of goo, Allura marches in early and watches him silently for a long moment. 

And Ro waits, because unlike last night there’s nothing he can do, nothing he can say to make this any easier. Either she’s going to follow along with the others, keeping a close eye on him but allowing him to stay, or she’ll decide Ro is too much of a threat and throw him off the ship now while there’s no one here to argue. And that would hurt, no matter whether she shoved him into a shuttle with a bag of his belongings or simply pushed him out an airlock, but Ro won’t stop her. He can’t trust his own judgment right now, but he trusts Allura; if she thinks it’s too dangerous to keep him near the team then he has to agree. 

“Shiro is still weak,” Allura says eventually, arms crossed and expression carefully neutral. “His time in the Black Lion has left him malnourished and exhausted and he needs time to recover. And while the other Paladins are improving rapidly, I am still worried about their ability to defend themselves and others. They still have a long way to go.” 

Ro nods, knuckles turning white where he’s got his spoon in a death grip. “They’re stubborn and strong, but they’re still kids,” he agrees. And Allura can’t keep an unknown threat near them, not where they’re supposed to be able to rest and train and be  _ safe _ . He doesn’t want to leave, but he will. He can at least do this for them, for his team, no matter how hard it is.

“They —  _ we _ — need to keep training on schedule,” Allura continues. “We can’t afford to take breaks and I cannot lead them when I am no longer in a leadership position while on missions. We need you to keep training with us until Shiro is ready.” 

Ro blinks, before ducking his head, staring blankly down at his food. That… is not what he expected. 

Allura standing silently in the background and letting Shiro and the others decide to allow Ro to stay is one thing. But asking him to still show up on the training deck every day, surrounded by and using weapons with and against the Paladins, is completely different. Either she’s deciding to put a level of trust in him that Ro, frankly, thinks is completely idiotic, or she’s confident enough in her own abilities to be able to stop him if he attacks someone. 

Before he can think of anything to say, Allura continues. “The others will be up and ready in a varga or so. Meet us on the training deck at your 0700.” And then she turns and walks away.

Ro watches her disappear around the corner before letting out a sigh. He probably shouldn’t go; it’s dangerous, he has no idea what he was made for or why he’s here, and every additional interaction with the others increases the odds of something bad happening, but… 

But he  _ misses _ them. It’s only a few days into his self-induced isolation and he’s already aching for their company — for Pidge’s sass and Hunk’s cheerful support and Lance’s banter and Coran’s goldmine of stories. This could go horribly, disastrously wrong, but if Ro spends another day completely alone he might go crazy. 

So he finishes choking down the neon green goo and heads back to his room to change into his armor —  _ Shiro’s _ armor, which is now on loan. He goes up to the training deck and does his warm ups, stretching and jogging around the perimeter while he waits. 

The others trickle in about an hour later, one after another, and start moving through their own stretches and warm ups until they’re all ready to go. They turn toward Ro, obviously waiting for instructions, but none of them are really looking him in the eye. 

“Let’s… start out against the gladiator,” Ro says, biting back a sigh of resignation. “Training sequence number four, level one.” 

The team forms up as a gladiator drops from the ceiling, bayards flashing into shape. And… it goes okay. The armor on Altean tech is tough and even Lance and Hunk’s bayards need to get in a couple successive hits to punch through it, so the two of them draw the gladiator’s attention with some glancing blows while Pidge sneaks around behind it. Allura’s whip lashes around its legs, locking it in place, and Pidge leaps up and cuts through the more vulnerable, flexible material at its neck. It drops like a stone and then disappears through the floor as soon as Pidge has climbed off and gotten out of the way. 

Ro nods to all of them in approval and gestures for them to get back in formation. “Good. Let’s ramp it up, level three.” 

Three gladiators drop this time, two with staffs and the other a whip, the combination of close and mid-range weaponry meaning they’re going to have to work as a tighter unit to take them down. 

Two of them go straight for Pidge, the smallest target, and the others rally around her. Allura locks whip with a gladiator’s staff while Pidge tries to find an opening, and Lance and Hunk fend off the gladiator wielding the whip. Ro’s left facing the third on his own. Normally he’d have it taken down in seconds and rushed over to help the team, but this one keeps dancing out of his reach and lunging for the others. It’s all Ro can do to block its attacks before it runs off again, struggling to keep up. 

It all goes downhill fast when the gladiator charges at Hunk from behind. Ro leaps forward to take care of it, but Hunk sees him out of the corner of his eye and jerks in surprise, almost smacking Ro in the head with his cannon. Ro’s so busy dodging him that he loses track of the gladiator. 

Pidge calls out “Shiro, get down!” and he ducks on instinct. He sees her flinch the moment the words are out of her mouth and another gladiator smashes its staff into her chest plate while she’s distracted, sending her flying. 

“End training sequence!” Ro shouts, rushing over to her. “You okay?” he asks, crouching down and holding a hand out. 

Pidge stares at it for a moment, and then glances up at him, expression equal parts embarrassed and wary. “I’m fine, Ro,” she says, a subtle, but unmistakable pause just before his name. She pushes herself up to her feet with a low groan. “I can keep going.”

Ro wrestles with himself for a moment before pushing aside the mess of emotions over Pidge’s mix-up and subsequent reaction to it in lieu of concern for her physical well-being. She hit the wall pretty hard, she’s gotta have some nasty bruises at the very least, and maybe a concussion. “You sure?” he asks. 

She nods, and Ro decides not to push it. Pidge is the most stubborn person he’s ever met and she’s already tense, prickly. 

“Alright,” he concedes, and then turns back to the others. “How about we try that level again?” 

He calls out for the computer to restart the same round from the beginning. The three gladiators are more mobile this time, weaving through the team and darting in and out, attacking at random. Ro’s gaze is flitting everywhere at once, working frantically to figure out the pattern. 

And then everything snags when he  _ watches _ Allura tag a gladiator running right past her toward himself and Lance — easily within reach of her whip — and then purposefully ignore it, turning away to lash at one of the others. 

Ro lunges, just barely intercepting in time to block the staff hurtling down toward Lance’s head. He’s just not quick enough to protect his  _ own _ head. The staff smashes into him and he drops, knees buckling under the force. 

Lance cries out in dismay, whipping his rifle around and taking out the gladiator even as he shouts “End training sequence!” 

Ro groans, blinking rapidly to clear the stars from his eyes as Lance crouches down and starts probing at his head. 

“Fuck, Ro, you okay?” 

“Yeah, think so. Just hurt like a bitch.” 

Lance’s answering chuckle is strained, but his smile of relief is genuine. If Ro didn’t feel so woozy from the hit, he’d probably be feeling woozy just from Lance being so close and smiling like that, especially since he’s been distant for days. 

Lance pushes up from the floor, offering a hand to pull Ro up beside him and holding on until he’s sure Ro is steady. And then he rounds on Allura, expression furious. “What the quiznak was that, Princess?” 

Allura frowns. “I’m not sure what you mean.” 

“Bull _ shit _ , you don’t know,” Lance spits. “That gladiator had to have gone right past you to get to us and when I turned around you were taking out the one Pidge was  _ already handling _ . So what the hell happened?” 

“I made a snap judgment,” Allura says, eyes narrowing. “I saw Ro tracking its movements and I trusted he had the situation under control.” 

Lance scoffs. “Right, and you would have ‘trusted’ all the rest of us with that responsibility, too, rather than eliminating the threat while you had the chance to do it yourself, would you?”

“Lance,” Ro cuts in, quiet and calm, but firm. “Don’t.” 

Lance turns to him with a glare. “You  _ know _ she let it go by on purpose, there’s no other explanation.” He rounds back on Allura, gaze burning. “Well, Princess? Did he pass your little test? Is that bruise on his head enough to convince you that he’s on our side? Since apparently the dozens of other times he’s done something just like this in the last six months weren’t enough!”

Allura doesn’t answer any of his questions, just shrinks her whip back to its bayard form. “Perhaps we should train individually for the remainder of the day,” she suggests, avoiding Lance’s gaze. “We’re not working well as a team this morning.” 

Ro closes his eyes and breathes out that quiet sigh he’d held back earlier. “Yeah. Yeah let’s just… work separately for the morning,” he says, waving the others off. 

They all break off individually to run or go through sims or stretch or whatever — Lance still fuming — and Ro stands off to the side, watching and cataloging what to work on with each of them later. Honestly, this wasn’t as bad as he was expecting it to go, no matter what he might have hoped for. It hurts, but he’s not really surprised that they’re all uncomfortable around him now. They’ll only have to deal with it for a short while, anyway, just until Shiro gets his strength back. 

And Ro’s going to try not to dwell on what he’s going to do with himself once that day comes. 

~~~

They pass the morning like that, finishing up with a quick run-through of what Ro wants them to work on during the additional individual training each of them does every day, and then they head off to the kitchen for lunch. Shiro is at the table when they all stumble in, munching slowly away at the last of the leftovers from the dinner Hunk made last night. 

Ro freezes in his tracks, wavering in the doorway and debating whether he should leave and come back later, or if blatantly avoiding the Black Paladin will make things worse. 

Shiro brightens at the sight of the others, lifting a hand up to wave before his expression goes completely blank when he spots Ro.

“Aww, Shiro! I was saving that for a late night snack,” Pidge says, shoulders slumping and oblivious to the tension. 

“Snooze you lose,” Shiro quips, gaze moving to her and mouth quirking up in a grin around the fork in his mouth. 

Ro eases just inside and leans against the wall — close to the exit while he takes a moment to evaluate, to wait and see.

“Says the one who’s been sleeping for days,” Pidge points out, purposely bumping into his shoulder on her way to the food goo dispensers. 

“Shiro needs the rest,” Allura says, sliding regally into her chair while Coran goes to retrieve bowls for the both of them. “According to the scans we took, his body seems to have been in some kind of suspended animation, like cryosleep. He could have stayed that way for years, but the lack of use has still left his body weakened.” 

“Guess it’s a good thing we found you then, huh?” Lance asks, grinning broadly from where he’s leaning against the wall by the dispensers, waiting his turn. 

“‘We?’” Shiro asks, and his lips are curled up in a playful smirk, but there’s a dark glimmer in his eyes that makes Ro’s gut clench. “Come on Lance, since when are you so humble? Take some credit, that was all you.” 

Ro fights the urge to close his eyes as the air in the room seems to drop a few degrees. 

Well. It looks like any desire Shiro might have had in maintaining civility is completely gone now, thanks to the fight last night. Until yesterday, Ro had thought it would be okay. Tense, awkward — highly uncomfortable, even — but now...

Lance’s smile looks frozen, stiff, but his voice is bright as he waves away Shiro’s comment with a forced chuckle. “No way, I wouldn’t have even known if it weren’t for Ro.” 

“Yeah, but he only found out because Black told him,” Shiro says, shrugging. 

The others are starting to look uneasy — even Allura seems tense — and Lance’s smile is completely gone. “That’s not—“ 

“Lance,” Ro cuts in, digging his fingers into his biceps to hide the way they’re shaking. “Shiro’s right, you did all the actual work getting him back. There’s no shame in taking the credit for that.” 

“Ro…” Lance says, face falling, but Ro just shrugs. 

“If I hadn’t been here, it would have been Keith she told. I was just in the right place at the right time; I didn’t do anything special.” 

Lance is still frowning, eyes swimming with sadness, but he lets it drop with a quiet “If you’re sure,” and everyone slowly goes back to grabbing food and crowding around the table.

Part of Ro wishes someone else would have protested too, but avoidance is probably better than causing a scene and _ really _ forcing everyone to pick a side, especially since he really doesn’t want to know what everyone would choose. They’ll have to eventually, but he’s not so eager for that day to come that he’s going to push the issue. 

“So,” Shiro says, turning to Pidge and Hunk, “what have you been up to?” 

The two of them launch straight into in-depth and complicated explanations about their projects on the Lions, Pidge’s work with her dad and the Olkari, Hunk’s work with Lotor’s engineers to make Galra and Altean tech compatible, and on and on, all the little inventions and tweaks and investigations they’re doing for Voltron, the rebels, and the Galra Empire that they’re now tentatively working with, thanks to Lotor. 

There’s no room for awkward silences or blistering accusations once those two get going, so Ro fills up a bowl and eats quickly, avoiding eye contact and choking the goo down one spoonful at a time, even if right now it’s making his stomach roll. He leaves quietly as soon as he’s done. 

Shiro doesn’t look at him even once. 

  
  


~~~ 

The evening of the day after Shiro was brought back, Ro had let Coran drag him to the kitchen for one last meal with the others. Lance hadn’t been there, or Shiro — the former off hunting the castle for some part Pidge needed — but Keith had still been on the ship and he’d torn himself away from a slumbering Shiro to join the rest of them. 

Sitting around the table, all of them eating silently, tears had started dripping down Keith’s face for the second time that day. He’d choked out that he’d realized Black had been trying to tell him for  _ months _ — from the very beginning — where Shiro was, but Keith hadn’t listened. Keith hadn’t listened to  _ anything _ Black tried to say because he didn’t want to be her Paladin, didn’t want to take Shiro’s place, didn’t want to bond with her in any way. 

So he’d blocked her out, shut her down over and over again, refusing to talk, and so he’d kept them all from finding out that Shiro had been so, so close to them all this time. 

He’d looked over at Ro, then, expression conflicted and complicated. “How could you have gone so long without finding out, either?” he’d asked, tone frigid with accusation, but tinged with genuine confusion and hurt.

And Ro had told him the truth. That Black had never communicated with him and, after a while, he’d started to think that she never would. That he’d spoken to her again and again and again, every time they flew, every time they went into battle, on so many nights when the lonely, empty space in his head where his Lion used to whisper nearly made him weep in frustration. Until it all finally drove him down to her hangar in the middle of the night and he’d screamed in fury and despair before falling to his knees and begging her to talk to him, just once.

Why, why,  _ why? _

And all he heard back was  _ Your quintessence is not the same. _

Well. In reality, Ro had only given the very basics: that he’d tried, but Black never said anything back, save the once; he kept the rest of it to himself.

Thankfully, that had been enough of an explanation, apparently. Allura had chimed in, explaining that the Lions choose their pilots based on compatible quintessence. The less compatible it was, the harder it was to connect with them. Black’s explanation of Ro’s different quintessence said everything they needed to know — it must have been difficult for her to speak to him, requiring more energy than usual, and that brief moment where she got through and  _ told him _ had been all she  _ could _ do, probably, and that was likely only accomplished by Ro’s desperate desire to connect in that moment, a surge of energy feeding the link. 

Lance’s connection to Shiro, she said, and his general knack for temporary adaptation, was likely how he was able to dive in and pull Shiro out. If he’d been there, Keith could probably have done the same since his connection to Shiro was even stronger and his was quintessence more compatible with Black than Lance’s. 

It seemed to ease Keith’s anger with Ro specifically, knowing that there was no way Ro  _ could _ have known, but it had also driven Keith deeper into the well of his own guilt. If he were really Shiro, Ro could probably have helped with that, reassured him, comforted him. 

But he isn’t, and he hadn’t known what to say. 

But regardless of who he  _ isn’t _ , Ro  _ knows  _ he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. But if his suspicions about his origins are true -  _ just some thing Haggar grew in her lab _ , Shiro had said - what he wants may not even matter. 

Lance seems to trust him, but then, Lance has had faith in him from the beginning and has been  _ worried  _ about him ever since their talk outside Oriand a couple of weeks ago. Ro’s not Shiro, but Lance still apparently thinks of him as a friend anyway. 

And  _ that _ is what’s tearing him up the most. His feelings for Lance are a byproduct of the stolen memories in his head. They don’t belong to him and he has no right to Lance’s friendship because he’s  _ not Shiro _ . Lance thought he was hanging out with Shiro all this time, which means Ro stole all that time from both of them, time they should have spent with each other.

It guts him to even think about it, for all of their sake.

So Ro wanders the halls again until he settles in his new favorite place, staring out at the stars and trying to push away the hurt over the strain in his relationship with everyone, the bitter accusations Shiro threw his way, the realization that whatever was budding up between him and Lance has to be over now. He doesn’t have the right to be hurt over it; none of it is  _ his _ , not really. And everyone’s safety is the most important thing to him anyway. 

The irony here is that he can’t bring himself to do anything on his own, either killing himself or leaving. Iit was probably Shiro’s first — this relentless, all-consuming desire to  _ live _ — but even though it’s stolen, he still  _ feels it _ , can’t ignore it, can’t push through the choking, raging, blinding desire to  _ live _ . So Ro can’t kill himself, even though there’s a fairly logical argument for why he should. 

And he can’t leave. He  _ can’t _ .

It should be much easier than killing himself, just  _ leaving _ , getting as far away from the Saviors of the Universe as he can. But he can’t, not even to protect his team, at least not while he doesn’t really  _ know _ anything. 

This ship, these people — they’re his  _ family _ , the only one he has left, and even if they hate him — hate him because he’s not real, not the man they chose to lead them —  _ he  _ loves  _ them  _ and they might still need him if they can eliminate whatever danger he poses. 

If they force him to, he’ll go, he’ll respect their wishes, but he can’t just walk away. 

So until the team makes a decision Ro will stay in this place of vacillation — on the ship, but not on the team; wearing Shiro’s face, but not Shiro; existing, but not truly  _ real _ . 

Waiting for his fate to be decided. 

He stares up at the stars while he waits, letting the silence and sparkling lights settle his heart back down after the stress of the morning, and maybe an hour after Ro sits down, quiet, unobtrusive footsteps approach from behind. 

Lance appears in his peripheral vision and takes the empty space to Ro’s left, leaning back on his palms and staring up at the stars as well. 

A few minutes pass before he says, softly, “Sorry I haven’t come to check up on you. I needed some time to— to sort through all of this.” 

Ro shrugs and pulls a knee up to his chest, wrapping both of his arms around it tightly. “It’s fine, I get it.” 

“It’s  _ not _ fine,” Lance insists, brow furrowing. “I was there today, I saw how the others are acting, how they’re treating you. Shiro especially. You’ve probably needed a friend and I’ve been too wrapped up in— quiznak, I don’t even know what. Everything I could say sounds stupid.” 

Ro sighs, resting his chin on his knee. In the last few months, he’s started to rely on Lance as his right hand out in the field, started slowly opening up to him as a friend, too, beyond what he and Shiro had before. Had even started to wonder if “friend” might transition into “boyfriend,”but iIt seems like a trivial thing to care about now. 

As if reading his thoughts, Lance blurts out, “Shiro confessed to me.” 

Ro blinks, whirling around. “...What?” 

Lance chuckles, but it’s a strained, broken sound. “It was almost funny, y’know, because I was trying to work up the nerve to confess to  _ you _ in those last couple of days before you came to me about what Black told you,” he says, wry and darkly amused. “Heck, I thought that’s what  _ you  _ were doing.” 

Ro’s chest tightens and he exhales noisily. 

_ God _ , that… that  _ hurts. _ Knowing that there really  _ had _ been a chance with Lance. But it doesn’t matter anymore, it’s not his right. 

He still cares about Lance, though, and he wants to know what’s going on with him, even if it’s hearing about him being with someone else. That would have been the case no matter  _ who _ Lance was interested in. “So... you and Shiro, huh?” he asks, quirking a brow. 

Lance makes a pained sound and tips his head up toward the ceiling, eyes closed. “ _ No _ ,” he says, and it’s wobbly and wet and Ro can’t stop his eyes widening in surprise. “No,” Lance continues, “because— Because it’s  _ both _ of you and it’s not fair and I— How could I  _ choose? _ ” He looks over at Ro then, pleadingly, and Ro’s heart warms and breaks all at the same time.

Fuck, this  _ kid _ . Somehow he believes his own feelings actually belong to Shiro  _ and _ Ro, and isn’t that simultaneously shocking and yet the most surprising thing ever. Heart of Voltron, indeed. 

Ro shakes his head, chuckling softly. “I— I’m not sure that made sense, Lance,” he says, because really, it doesn’t, but Lance doesn’t get what he really means, and that’s okay. Ro didn’t intend for him to. 

“Ah, yeah. Probably not,” Lance says, hanging his head. “Sorry. Should I just— never mention it again?” 

“I have no idea,” Ro says, squeezing his arms around his knee and turning to stare back up at the stars. “Probably.” 

Definitely, he tells himself. It’s unlikely he’ll be around much longer; Lance should save his heart for someone who’s  _ real _ . 

“Are we…” Lance starts, and then pauses. 

Ro turns back, heart softening as Lance’s gaze roves searchingly over his face. 

“Are we still friends?” Lance whispers.

Ro should say no. He has no right to any of this. Everything in his life belongs to Shiro and he’s  _ not  _ Shiro. That includes Lance’s friendship, but Ro doesn’t think he can let go of that too, not when it’s still being offered openly, genuinely. 

“I hope so,” Ro says, palming the back of his neck. “I can’t—  _ fuck _ , Lance, I don’t know how to deal with this alone.”

“I’d offer to find you a handbook, but I doubt one exists for this situation,” Lance says, leaning into his shoulder, warm and solid. “I  _ do _ know the others will come around eventually, some sooner than others. They’re all good people, they just need some time to sort this all out like I did.” 

Ro nods, not sure he agrees, but too tired to argue. 

“Hey,” Lance says, waiting for Ro to look over at him. “Just remember I’m not going anywhere, alright?” he asks, echoing his words from the dining room on that first, gut-wrenching day, and all Ro can do is nod again. 

He’s grateful — unbelievably grateful to have someone on his side — but Ro’s really not sure how much of a difference their friendship will make in the long run. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Cover Art](https://impendingexodus.tumblr.com/post/186803167487/cover-art-for-zacekovas-amazing-fic-whitewaters) and [art](https://impendingexodus.tumblr.com/post/186803283407/tensions-rise-in-my-second-piece-for-zacekovas) by ImpendingExodus.
> 
> Also, FYI, chapters will be totally inconsistent in length because they're totally inconsistent in length. That's how I do, despite the Type A part of my personality screaming incoherently in the corner to fix it.


	2. Chapter 2

Several days go by, all of them the same. 

Ro leads training in the mornings, eats lunch as quickly as he can while pretending he’s not bothered by Shiro completely ignoring his presence, and then goes back to wandering the castle until it’s late enough to steal some snacks from the kitchen without running into anyone. 

And then it’s back to hiding in his room until the metaphorical dawn. 

It works, he supposes. He won’t starve, and it satisfies Allura’s demands that the team continue training, all while keeping his interactions with the others to an absolute minimum. If it weren’t for Lance’s eager request every morning for Ro to come to lunch he’d avoid that too, but it’s impossible to say no when those sparkling, hopeful, ocean blue eyes are staring up at him. 

A few times, those eyes find Ro later in the day, trekking alongside him during his wanderings. 

Lance will chatter endlessly, cheerfully — arms flailing dramatically along with his stories of home and the Garrison and all the people he’s met during their Coalition-recruiting efforts — sometimes. But the rest of the time, because of some uncanny ability he possesses to just  _ know _ when Ro can’t handle it, can’t handle the lightheartedness or the noise or  _ anything _ , Lance will just pad quietly through the hallways at his side, a silent companion fleeing Ro’s demons with him. 

He’s been like that from the start, even before Shiro disappeared and Ro came back in his place — steady and supportive and bright. Lance’s jokes are often poorly-timed or straight up obnoxious, but Shiro had always been glad there was someone in the group to lighten the mood — someone who understood the weight of their responsibilities, took them seriously, but who didn’t let that stop him from having some fun — and Ro shares the sentiment.

Lance’s easy, accepting presence is a balm in the wake of everyone else’s reactions. 

They’re reticent around him, uncomfortable, and  Ro gets it. He’s not Shiro. He was close enough to pass inspection, but only because they were all so overjoyed to have him back that they didn’t look too closely, didn’t think too hard about how he ended up back with the Galra, didn’t let themselves wonder why his personality wasn’t quite the same anymore. But the real thing is back, and now that they’ve all finally stopped to think about it, they’ve realized how different, how  _ wrong _ Ro really is in comparison to their true Black Paladin. 

And he’s sure they can’t help but think of the potential danger, as well. 

So the days go by, and Ro keeps waiting. Waits for them all to come to a decision. He doesn’t want to leave and he doesn’t want to die, but he can’t trust his own judgment anymore, not without knowing why he exists, why he’s  _ here _ . So he’s trusting them to make the call, to decide what risks they’re willing to take and what to  _ do _ with him. 

And honestly at this point, more than whatever choice they’re going to make, it’s the endless, anxious waiting that’s driving him crazy.

~~~ 

“I need to know what’s happened since I disappeared,” Shiro says, arms folded over his chest. It’s the first time since their argument that Shiro has addressed him directly and the whole room goes quiet, almost tense, waiting to see what will happen.

Ro peers up at him from his seat at the table and tries not to frown. “The others haven’t told you?”

“With missions,” Shiro clarifies. “This Coalition I’ve heard mentioned. They’ve told me enough about what happened on the ship and with the team specifically, but not about how the overall fight against the Galra is going. Allura’s already agreed to fill me in, but I would appreciate the perspective you can give from when you were commanding from the castle.” 

Ro looks down at his still mostly-full plate and takes a deep, silent inhale through his nose. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to wait until I’m done eating?” he asks, hoping for just a few minutes to gather his thoughts, to prepare, to figure out what he’s going to say. 

“It’s not like you were going to finish it anyway,” Shiro snipes, and turns on his heel and strides out of the room. 

Ro closes his eyes and sighs deeply before rising and following in Shiro’s wake, not even bothering to take care of his dishes. Hunk will probably clean everything up once he’s done eating his own lunch, anyway. He’s almost out the door when Lance calls out to him, sounding worried. 

“Ro—“

“It’s fine,” Ro cuts in, and leaves before anyone can say anything else. He appreciates the concern, but he understands Shiro’s temper and issues better than any of them. And he can handle it. 

Ro makes an educated guess and finds Shiro on the bridge, leaning against the back of the Black Paladin chair and watching Allura as she pulls up a map of the universe. 

“Truthfully, we did not accomplish much in the first few movements,” Allura is saying, zooming in on the systems the team had been freeing before Ro showed up. “Keith spent much of his time looking for you while the other three Paladins freed whatever planets I could find that I believed they could handle on their own, or with the help of the Blade of Marmora. We rallied five planets to our side before Lotor became our primary concern, and it was soon after that the Black Lion led us to Ro.” 

“When did the Lion switch happen?” Shiro asks. 

“During our first battle with Lotor,” Allura answers. “The Black Lion had just accepted Keith as her pilot and then Blue put up her barrier and refused to allow Lance to enter. The Red Lion called for him, and after he left the Blue Lion dropped her shield and let me inside.” 

“And this was all several  _ weeks _ after the battle with Zarkon?” Shiro asks, brow quirked in skepticism. “Princess, you’ve always been very proactive, why hadn’t you figured all of that out sooner?” 

Allura’s brow furrows and she looks down at the floor with a troubled expression on her face. “It was… difficult, at first. All of us assumed that we would find you quickly, so I saw no need to consider finding a new Paladin. And for a while, even when I started to think we  _ should _ do so, Keith persuaded me to wait, to keep searching. I couldn’t bear to tell him we needed to move on, not so soon after losing you.” 

Keith had told Ro about that time, just a little. How lost he’d felt without Shiro’s reassuring presence and shoved into a role he wasn’t ready for with little true support from the team. How it felt like everyone was acting like Shiro was  _ dead _ and something deep in Keith’s gut said that was impossible, but no one would  _ listen _ . 

Ro has memories of how Keith looks when he feels alone, abandoned,  _ lost; _ it’s not difficult to understand why Allura had such a hard time asking him to move forward, especially when she understands grief better than any of them. 

Shiro rubs a palm over his forehead, mouth downturned, and nods. “Can’t blame you for that, I guess,” he says, tone wry. He turns to look at Ro, finally, expression carefully blank. “What happened after you showed up?” 

Ro goes through it all mechanically, emotionlessly, outlining the mission details like he’s giving a formal report — searching for the comet, the fight with Lotor’s ship and destroying the piece of the teladuv, working with the rebels and freeing more systems, the months recruiting planets to the Coalition, all the work put into planning the blitz around Naxela and freeing a third of the universe from Galra rule, allying with Lotor and how they’re now working together on a plan to end the fight from  _ within _ the Empire. He pulls up maps and numbers and statistics, offering up hard data on who is freed, who are active participants in the Coalition, and who are incapable of fighting or offering supplies, what quadrants the rebels and the Blade of Marmora and the team are currently hammering away at, and what Lotor’s doing to redirect the Galra and keep them busy while he works on a solution to their quintessence problem. 

Hey lays out all of the facts, swallowing back any desire he might have to give his personal opinion on any of it, on how each member of the team has been coping or what he thinks still needs to be taken care of. It’s not his job anymore, or won’t be for much longer, and Shiro will ask if he wants to know. 

Once he’s finished, Shiro stands staring up at the holograms for a long minute, absorbing it all, maybe, thinking it over. And then he asks, “Why did Keith leave?” 

Ro freezes. “...What?” 

“I know he was still piloting Black even after you showed up, that Black wouldn’t  _ let _ you pilot her, but then suddenly she did and Keith left the team,” Shiro elaborates, looking over at Ro with cold, steel-grey eyes. “But no one’s told me  _ why _ . Why did he leave?” 

It sounds like an accusation, like he blames Ro for this. Like it’s Ro’s fault that Keith left, that he’d done something to drive Keith away. And…  _ _

_ Fuck _ . He’s not  _ wrong _ .

Ro’s gut churns, rough and painful and violent, and he stares down at the floor and tries to find the words. 

But how can he possibly explain the turmoil he’d been in? The dread and disgust of having been at the hands of the Galra  _ again _ ; the nightmares of suffocation and starvation haunting him night after night; the despair when Black stayed dark and silent and indifferent under his hands? 

How, despite his efforts to stay optimistic in the face of all that, he’d lashed out at everyone, Keith especially?

How to put into words how _wrong_ it had felt that Keith took his place on the team _just like_ _Shiro had wanted him to_, but not like that, it wasn’t ever supposed to have gone like that. He wasn’t supposed to _be there_ to see it, to witness Keith as leader of Voltron, and not be able to take his rightful place _back_.

He’d been scrambling for control, for a purpose, seething internally with a fury that only grew with each day that Keith squandered his responsibilities as the Black Paladin. And whether it was out of fear and insecurity, or because of some other reason, it  _ didn’t matter _ , he was shirking his duties and  _ Ro couldn’t fix it _ . He couldn’t convince Keith to let go of his idealistic, perfect image of Shiro, and his refusal made it impossible for  _ both of them _ to let it go, to let Shiro’s old role go. 

He’d come back broken and unworthy in Black’s eyes and neither of them could accept it. 

He’d been in absolute turmoil and no one had seen it, no one had  _ understood _ . All they’d seen was less-than-stellar-coping with the new trauma and thought time would make it all better. 

Ro wonders how much worse his rage might have gotten if it had gone on any longer. Maybe Keith would have left anyway, even if Black  _ hadn’t _ let Ro pilot her. Maybe Voltron would have been a pilot short and even more disjointed and leaderless than before. Maybe he would have truly succeeded in driving Keith away because of his own inability to support Keith in his role as leader with grace and patience and understanding. Rather than pushing and pushing and  _ pushing _ until he snapped. 

He’ll never know. He’ll never know if Black letting him in was the  _ only  _ reason Keith felt it was okay to leave, not really. 

So Ro swallows down the regret, the shame, the  _ guilt _ , and rasps out, “Only Keith knows his reasons for doing anything, you know that. You’ll have to ask him,” and then he turns around and leaves, Shiro’s gaze like fire boring into his back. 

~~~ 

It’s another week of following the same routine — training, eating with the team, wandering the castle, sneaking some food, and hiding in his room until dawn — before Coran announces at the end of lunch that after Shiro’s check-up that morning he’s officially well-rested and back in fighting condition. The proclamation is met with a chorus of cheers from the three humans and a bright smile and congratulations from Allura. 

Ro stares down at his half-full bowl of goo and shoves aside the bitterness; he knew this was coming, and it’s only right that it has. 

“I think it’s time you go see the Black Lion,” Allura says, rising from her chair and beckoning. 

Shiro nods and follows her out just as calmly and gracefully, but Ro can see the eagerness in his gait, the way his feet can hardly keep up with the rest of him and his sparkling eyes are more subtle than the younger Paladins’ rushed movements and bright grins, but just as honest. They trot along at his side, jabbering excitedly, and for some reason Ro drags himself up from the table and trails after them. 

It feels a little like torture when he knows exactly what’s going to happen, but a part of him needs to see it with his own eyes, to know without a doubt that Black isn’t  _ his _ anymore, and that he isn’t hers.  So he follows them down to the hangar and lurks by the entrance as the others herd a nervous-looking Shiro forward. 

He climbs up the steps to the Black Lion’s platform on his own, slow and steady and patient, and Ro’s jaw clenches. Shiro comes to a stop at the top, craning his neck to look up at her, and his quiet “Hey,” in greeting echoes around the room for an endless, agonizing second. 

Black’s eyes flash and she throws her head back and  _ roars _ , shaking the entire castle as the other Lions stand and add their own voices in welcome. Ro watches some of the team stagger under the force of the Lions’ collective relief and joy spilling out across the Lion bonds, a current of emotion that Ro can still  _ feel _ , somehow, and  _ what the hell? _

Ro notices — as if from a long way off — Black lowering her head and Shiro climbing inside before they launch out into space, the other Lions roaring again and the Paladins cheering as the pair goes for a fly for the first time since the battle against Zarkon, but mostly he’s stuck in his own head. 

Black accepted Shiro back —  _ obviously _ — and  _ all _ the Lions roared in victory and welcome when she did, just like Ro remembers happening when they were all gathered for the  _ first _ time. It can’t mean anything else except that they were welcoming their true Black Paladin just like before. Which means he really  _ isn’t _ Shiro. So why is the bond still there? Why can he still hear the Lions? He’d thought his bond would sever once Black accepted Shiro back in, but it’s there — weak, but there. It’s still the whispering stream like it has been since he showed up, rather than the steady, powerful river in his memories, but he can  _ hear  _ her delight at Shiro’s return, as well as the relief from the other Lions that their Black Paladin is back. 

A rush of displaced air accompanies Black as she flies back inside a few minutes later, landing with a clank and lowering her head to the floor. Shiro emerges at the top of the ramp, face flushed and grinning broadly. Even from the other end of the hangar, Ro can see the way his eyes are sparkling. Something about it makes his chest ache, a sharp pang beneath his ribs at the sight of that face — the one he’s gotten so used to seeing either grim and despondent in the mirror, or carefully blank and cold from up close — wrinkled around the corners of his eyes and shining with happiness. 

Maybe because of how it reminds him who he  _ isn’t _ , of who he  _ can’t _ be. Hell, even his  _ name  _ is incomplete, a fraction of  _ Shiro _ and what he is, and no they don’t need him subbing in for Shiro’s during training anymore either. How long will it be before they all realize? With no roles left for Ro to fill, how much longer will it be before they finally make a decision? 

Ro takes one last look at the team — talking excitedly with each other and making plans for future missions, all of them smiling widely — and soaks it in.  _ This _ is why he can’t bear to leave, despite having no right to join them, despite his very presence on board having the potential to ruin it all. He wants to stay, even if they don’t want him to, and because he trusts them, he’ll respect their choice. 

Even if it kills him. 

Ro takes one last look, memorizing the scene, and then he turns on his heel and walks out.

~~~ 

Ro completes his warmups not long after the others arrive on the training deck the next morning. Late last night, Allura had come by to take back the Black Paladin armor in light of Shiro’s return to duty, so Ro will have to spend this last morning training with the team in a generic Altean suit. It fits well enough, but every time Ro catches sight of it in his peripheral he startles, almost cringing over how wrong it looks. 

He’s standing off to the side - waiting for the others to finish warming up and wondering just how different training is going to go today - when Shiro finally shows up. Ro glances over, blinking when he sees him in the Black Paladin armor. 

It’s bizarre, like catching sight of himself in a mirror he didn’t know was there. 

Shiro’s standing tall and confident, arms crossed over his chest and no longer looking awkward and uncomfortable in his own skin. His gaze roves over the team with calm consideration and Ro makes his way over to him, jealousy warring with an inexplicable sense of pride, because that’s  _ himself _ back in his rightful armor, but also  _ not _ , and it’s really fucking confusing. 

Ro stands next to him and turns to face the Paladins as well, feeling just as awkward as Shiro had looked that night in Ro’s room. “I can walk you through what we’ve been doing lately,” he says tentatively. “It’ll give you an idea for where everyone is at — how they’ve improved and changes in the team dynamic.” 

Shiro grunts noncommittally, but doesn’t say anything. 

Ro waits, just in case Shiro’s taking a moment to gather his thoughts or something, but after a solid minute of silence he figures it’s nothing to do with that, it’s just that this is likely the best response he can hope to get from Shiro anymore. “Okay,” Ro says, sighing internally even as he raises his voice to call out, “Everyone pair off. Lets run some hand-to-hand spars.” 

The others look back and forth between Shiro and Ro for a second before warily moving to group together — Hunk with Pidge; Lance with Allura — but Shiro frowns. 

“What are you guys doing? Allura, you should go with Hunk,” he says, gesturing with a nod of his head. “He’s the only one who can take any real hits from you. Lance, you spar with Pidge.” 

Ro fights back the urge to shake his head.  _ This _ is why he’d offered to go through what they’ve been doing with Shiro.

“Um, about that,” Ro says, cutting in before the others can start moving. “We were doing drills with those pairings a couple months ago, but Pidge still needs more practice fighting someone significantly larger and heavier than she is.” He gestures at how the Paladins are still paired off. “And once we swapped things around, I realized Allura’s been helping Lance improve his speed a lot, so we’ve been sticking to these pairings lately.” 

Shiro’s gaze flicks over at him briefly, brow pinched, but he turns back to the others and reluctantly waves for them to continue. “Fine, go ahead.” With a few awkward looks amongst each other, the Paladins start training, matched up as Ro has had them doing, and several minutes pass with Shiro watching closely, forehead furrowing deeper and deeper as they fight and Ro calls out the occasional suggestion.

They go a few rounds and then Shiro moves them on to gladiator training. “Circle up, team! 

Surprisingly, they all glance over at Ro at that, and Ro winces internally when Shiro rounds on him, looking at him head on for the first time since he showed up and raising a brow in silent question. Ro remembers how much he’d chafed at the way the team didn’t immediately follow his orders anymore either, questioned constantly because Keith was technically in charge, then. Shiro’s not getting pissed about it nearly as quickly, but Ro can see his irritation mounting. 

“We’ve been trying out several new formations,” Ro explains, hoping the logic behind it will override the need for control. It’s not as if that’s a Ro-exclusive quality, after all. “Spreading out more gives them freedom to move without getting in each other’s way since three-and-a-half of our five weapons are mid-to-long range.”

“When’s the last time you worked with a circle?” Shiro asks. 

“Several months, at least,” Ro admits. They’re not often all together in a single group during missions, and even more rarely completely surrounded, so it hasn’t been a high-priority formation to practice. 

Shiro shakes his head. “Circle up. You don’t always get to fight in the best formation possible when you’re on a mission so they need to work on this too, especially if it’s been that long.” 

Ro grits his teeth, but keeps his mouth shut. Shiro has a point, but a circle doesn’t play to any of the team’s strengths or abilities. It’s one of the toughest formations in existence for this group and they haven’t mastered more than a few of the easiest ones yet. Yes, they’ll need to work on it again at  _ some point _ , and yes, they could end up stuck that way on a mission at any time, but pushing the team to try and master something during training that they’re not ready for is only going to drag down morale and make them frustrated. 

But it’s not his call to make anymore, Ro reminds himself, inhaling deeply. He’s not Shiro; Shiro is three feet to his right and has already made his call. So Ro stays silent and waits, keeping both eyes on the Paladins because eventually something is going to go wrong and he should be ready for it. 

The fight goes poorly. Very poorly right from the start. 

There’s half-a-dozen gladiators charging in from all directions and the circular formation prevents the Paladins with long-range weapons from using them to the highest advantage — Hunk and Lance can’t shoot anything too far around the circle without risking friendly fire, and the gladiators catch on quickly. Most of them cluster around Pidge and Allura, forcing the gun wielders to break out of position to get a clean shot which leaves their backs exposed. The remaining gladiators take advantage and attack them, so Hunk and Lance retreat to where Pidge and Allura can watch their backs, and then the whole thing repeats, over and over again, and the formation gets sloppier with each cycle. 

Ro bites his tongue until it bleeds, fighting every instinct he has to keep from shouting out instructions and strategies, to step down from being the commander he’s been for this team for months. Because a voice identical to his own is already doing the same thing and Ro’s learned the hard way that having two leaders leading at the same time doesn’t end well — people get hurt. 

But then a gladiator gets past Hunk’s covering fire, too far around the curve of the circle for him to keep shooting without hitting Pidge so he shifts his attention elsewhere, and the bot goes running straight for Lance’s six. 

No one else has noticed and Ro blanches. “Allura, behind you!” he shouts. 

Allura spins around and takes the gladiator out so fast Ro doesn’t even quite see how she does it. Unfortunately, the one she’d been fighting only needs that split second of distraction to slip past her and slam its staff into Hunk’s side. 

He grunts in pain and crumples to his knees, and Lance turns, eyes flashing as he blasts straight through the gladiator’s head from point-blank range. 

“End training sequence!” Shiro calls out and rushes over to help Hunk, dusting him off and checking him over before rounding on Ro with a glare. “What the hell was that?”

“That gladiator was headed straight for Lance’s back and none of them saw it,” Ro says, incredulous that Shiro even needs to ask. Had he not noticed what was happening? “I made sure someone stopped it before he could get hurt.”

“Calling Allura’s attention away let an enemy get past her line of defense and hurt  _ Hunk _ ,” Shiro explains, obviously fighting to act calm and logical as he walks back over to Ro, because his gaze is dark. “ _ He _ got hit because you distracted everyone.” 

So he  _ had  _ noticed. Maybe Ro just got the warning out before he could say anything, since it’s not like Shiro hasn’t been throwing out suggestions the entire time himself, but then why is he so upset? Just because Ro butted in? 

“I couldn’t have known that would happen,” Ro points out, jaw clenching. “I _did_ know that Lance was going to be hurt if someone didn’t get in there. Since when do you care more about maintaining focus than about the safety of your team?” 

Shiro inhales sharply through his nose, holding onto the breath for a long moment before exhaling slowly. His voice stays level even as his eyes get colder, furious. “Interrupting the team in the middle of a mission can have serious consequences, as you just proved. And it could have been much worse.” 

The rationality, the calm maturity Shiro is stubbornly wearing even as he’s clearly beginning to lose his temper is making Ro’s blood hot. All that energy going into being everyone’s perfect, controlled leader, rather than letting himself be  _ honest _ , and if he were in any other situation than this, Ro would laugh over the irony. 

After all, how can  _ he _ claim to know what an honest Shiro looks like? 

“You can’t see the whole battle when you’re right in the midst of it,” Ro points out instead, voice rising and not even bothering to try and stop it anymore. They’re both pissed and he doesn’t see a reason to pretend they’re not, especially when the team already knows  _ both _ of them well enough to recognize the signs. “Sometimes you need someone on the outside to point things out to you! I’ve been doing that for the team since I got here because that’s what they needed. Without Allura on the bridge anymore, someone had to keep track of the whole field, so that’s what I’ve done. I’m  _ good _ at it.” 

There’s silence for a long moment, silence while Shiro does nothing but stare at him calmly, coldly, and then he says, so quiet and steady that it takes a moment for the sting of his words to register, “You’re not the leader anymore.” 

Ro inhales sharply. 

“Allura was our commander because she’s connected to all the Lions,” Shiro continues, still quiet enough that the others won’t be able to hear him. “She’s connected to all the Paladins, too, but you’re not. You have no reason to be on the bridge or here for training anymore. I’m sure Allura can explain anything else I’ve missed, or even Keith, since this was his responsibility in the first place.” And his tone is calm and firm, but his eyes are  _ arctic _ , distant, and that slices deeper than his seething rage had that night back in Ro’s room. Ro already knew all of this, knew it was time to give up his final scraps of identity and purpose, but Shiro’s  _ tearing  _ them away from him like barbed wire from his heart, and he doesn’t even care.

Ro swallows, throat tight and chest aching under Shiro’s steel-hard gaze, and jerks his head down in a nod. “Understood.” 

“Shiro,” Lance calls out, frowning, “wait a minute, what’s—“ 

“Lance,” Ro says, cutting him off quietly with a shake of his head, already turning to leave. “Don’t worry about it.”

He really, truly appreciates Lance and his friendship. It’s just not worth protesting, not when Ro saw this coming from a mile away. He’d just thought he was more prepared for the way it would hurt, but the only way this could have gone any worse is if Shiro had explicitly told him to get off the ship. 

He’d made it clear there was no reason for him to stay, though. 


	3. Chapter 3

Ro spends the next few days in his room, avoiding reminding anyone of his ongoing presence, even Lance and his attempts to talk. Better to just stay out of sight and out of mind, and then maybe he can stay, even for just a little while longer. It’s selfish and probably dangerous, but at least he’ll have a roof and a bed and food, even if the latter is only whatever goo or leftovers he can scrounge up in the middle of the night when everyone else is asleep.

The question, though, is how long they’ll be willing to expend resources on him if he’s not  _ doing _ anything. 

For the last few weeks Allura needed him to train with the team while Shiro was recovering, but that’s not the case anymore. The ship is capable of housing several hundred people, but they have no crew, no staff, no anything. It’s a lot of work to keep the castle running well enough to support even just the seven of them — especially on top of all the rest of their responsibilities. The ridiculous amount of automatic functions that the castle only needs infrequent, basic maintenance on to keep running, and Coran’s seemingly boundless energy and engineering knowledge is the only reason they can all continue to live on such a powerful battleship rather than a simple transport. 

So if they don’t even need Ro around to make them run drills anymore, why would they expend valuable resources keeping him alive? 

He needs to make himself useful. Or, at the very least, not a total waste of food and air. If he can be helpful then an argument could be made to keep him around for the free labor, at least. And if he’s useful  _ enough _ , they might even be persuaded to figure out why he’s here and a solution to the problem so he can stay. 

With that in mind, on the fourth morning since the disastrous training session with Shiro, Ro pushes himself out of bed several hours before the others are due to wake and heads to the kitchen. 

He’s not much of a cook, admittedly, certainly nowhere near Hunk’s level of skill, but Hunk can’t cook for every meal and anything has to be better than goo or Coran’s “Paladin Lunches.” 

It takes some experimenting to find out how best to prepare all of the ingredients Hunk has saved for whenever he’s putzing around in the kitchen instead of his workshop. Nothing looks anything like what Ro’s familiar with — neither the food nor the appliances scattered around the room — and he makes some nasty looking, smelling,  _ and  _ tasting dishes before he finally concocts something edible, if not especially appetizing. 

It’s a work-in-progress. 

Regardless, he cooks up enough of whatever vegetable-tuber-root thing he found to feed an army and peels and chops up a couple dozen sweet fruits that look like red kiwi, but taste kind of like mangos, and tosses them in a bowl to accompany. Then he shoves everything in the fridge in a prominent place and spends almost an hour furiously scrubbing, wiping, and drying everything in sight before hightailing it back to his room. The last thing he wants is for anyone to come in and find him, not until he’s ready to face them. 

He does the same thing all over again a couple of hours later while the others are in morning training, prepping a hearty, filling lunch that should keep them all content until late. And if not, there should be enough leftovers from both meals for snacking on, as well as the food goo, which Ro snags a large helping of for his own dinner, later. 

It’s exhausting, honestly, all the rushed experiments and prepping and cleaning twice in one day — especially on his brain, wracking his memory for any meagre tidbit of knowledge he’s picked up over the years on cooking. By the time Ro gets back to his room, he’s sore, singed, stressed, and deeply sorry for every time he brushed off opportunities to learn more.

And it  _ still  _ doesn’t feel like enough. 

It doesn’t feel like enough because he’s not providing anything that the team couldn’t live without. There’s sustenance available at any time of day or night because of the food goo dispensers and though the humans might appreciate having non-synthetic food to eat, Ro knows his cooking is nothing special. It’s certainly not good enough to warrant keeping him around, not when they can get  _ Hunk’s _ cooking if they’re ever especially sick of Altean fare. 

Ro needs more ways to contribute, to make them all at least think twice about sending him away, to give them a reason to  _ keep him _ , so after he finishes making lunch the next day he heads to one of the unused conference rooms with a console and pulls up the database of reports from the Coalition and the Blade to start sorting through them. Coran’s been doing it by himself since Shiro got back and Ro’s been dealing with everything by avoiding it all, and now there’s a backlog. Ro knows better than to think that Allura will allow him to make decisions on anything important, but he can at least help with filtering out the routine reports. 

The hours of staring at glaring screens every afternoon only add to Ro’s weariness, but the dry eyes and increasingly painful headaches aren’t enough to deter him, to make him quit. Not when it could mean the difference between staying or leaving, living or dying; he’d do anything for the former. 

And since Allura and Shiro  _ still _ haven’t seem to have come to any decisions, he’s going to build up whatever chance he has left. 

~~~

A little over a week after Ro forces himself out of his rooms to be helpful, he gets a ping on his “space mail” (as Lance calls it) while he’s skimming through some transport logs and opens it to find a message from Coran. It’s a schedule, time stamps at all hours of the day for the next week alongside a list of things around the castle that need cleaning or repairs — all simple stuff that doesn't require a mechanic’s knowledge. There’s a short note at the end, too, just a couple of sentences. 

_ I know how much you like to stay busy, Number One, and I wouldn’t mind some company, if you think you can handle a thoroughly robust education on Wriggling Nilfheppers!  _

Ro swallows, throat tight at the sight of the familiar nickname, and syncs the schedule with his own calendar. 

~~~ 

Ro stares down at the access hatch and blinks a few times, hoping it’ll make the symbols etched on it rearrange in a way that makes sense.  The steady throbbing ever present behind his forehead has worked its way up to a rhythmic pounding that flares out to the edges of his skull, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. His hands were shaking when he woke up this morning — rather, when he finally dragged himself out of his mussed and sweaty sheets — and they haven’t stopped. 

The lack of sleep might be getting to him.

On top of everything else, Coran’s been teaching him the basics of Altean all week, showing him how to pronounce the most common words on all the control panels and what they mean so he can at least navigate the main menus a little easier. Learning to  _ read _ Altean hasn’t been too hard, honestly — not much different than learning to read English in school — but  _ speaking _ it? Ro’s pretty sure Alteans have a syrinx  _ and _ a larynx for them to be able to make the sounds they do; no human  _ Ro’s _ ever known could hope to make some of those noises. And if nothing else, the long strings of consonants every third word will surely destroy any hopes he has of speaking intelligibly. 

Watching Coran turn interesting colors at his pronunciation has been fun, though. 

Ro runs a hand over the mysterious characters and heaves a sigh, resigning himself to having to squirm his way back through the air vents until he can find Coran and get him to come translate. At the rate he’s going he won’t get this hatch open until the Empire falls. 

It takes a few minutes, but he finds Coran and drags him back to help open the service panel, and then they finish up the rewiring on that level before calling it a day. It’s long past dinner time and though Ro never really feels hungry anymore Coran swears that his own stomach will start digesting itself if he doesn’t get something to eat in the next varga —  _ “I mean it! Altean stomach acid is quite powerful!”  _

Coran tells him to go on ahead, though, while he cleans up their tools and puts them away (he has a  _ very _ specific system), and Ro’s just walking through the doorway to the dining room when he hears Pidge groan appreciatively. 

“Hunk, I don’t know what tips you gave Coran on how to appeal to human taste buds, but his cooking is so much better lately. Not nearly as good as yours, of course, but it’s even marginally  _ above _ edible!” 

Ro’s at just the right angle to have remained unnoticed, but he can see Pidge, Lance, and Hunk grouped together around the worktop island, the latter blinking in surprise. 

“What? No, I haven’t said anything to Coran,” Hunk says. “I thought Shiro’s rejection of his latest Paladin Lunch finally broke his spirit completely. Especially since I saw him petting a bowl of Jedju beetles and apologizing that no one appreciated the ‘briny crunch of their thoracic organs’ the other day,” he finishes, curling his fingers in air quotes. 

“That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard,” Lance says, grinning. He’s sitting on the counter, heels tapping lightly against the cabinets and munching on some snacks. “Also, I’m pretty sure it’s not Coran who’s doing the cooking.” 

Ro’s heart clenches. He’s hardly talked to Lance the last week and then some, ignoring his knocks late at night and skirting every request to join them for meals. He’s glad for the concern, but he doesn’t want any sympathy or comfort right now, not when he should be focusing on what he can still  _ do _ , not when the tension of waiting is turning every sound a dagger straight to his brain and shortening his already abysmal temper. 

It’s a miracle he hasn’t lashed out at Coran, yet. 

If Lance is hurt by his avoidance he hasn’t let it show, always smiling back with a sort of understanding sadness and murmuring “maybe next time.” But he’s smart enough to have figured out who  _ is _ doing the cooking — simple process of elimination — and Lance cares enough to not have dismissed Ro as a candidate or forgotten about him entirely in the first place. 

“What do you mean?” Pidge asks. “Who else could it be? The rest of us are in training all morning so obviously none of us have been putting lunch together every day.” 

Lance shrugs. “You really think Coran just  _ happened _ to make something almost exactly like hamburgers and french fries? Nu uh, no way. Too much of a coincidence.” 

“Maybe someone told Coran about them and he decided to give it a try,” Pidge shrugs. 

“I’m gonna have to agree with Lance,” Hunk says. “I’m pretty sure Coran doesn’t have anywhere near enough time to come in here to experiment with Earth cuisine.” 

“Not to mention that Coran is usually up in the observation room all morning while we’re training, so when would he have time to cook us lunch?” Lance adds. 

Pidge hums. “He could have made it early in the morning, or even the night before.” 

Lance shrugs. “I don’t care  _ who’s _ making it as long as it keeps happening. I’m sick of goo. Oh! Hey, Ro,” he says, face splitting into a grin when his gaze lands on where Ro’s been lurking in the doorway. 

“Hi,” Ro says, breathing out an internal sigh of relief that Lance didn’t say anything. Part of Ro wants him to — the whole point of him doing all this work is so everyone will find him useful enough to keep around — but his stomach clenches at the idea of  _ seeing  _ their reactions to knowing who’s preparing their meals every day. 

He makes his way casually over to the refrigerator, hoping there’s still some leftovers and avoiding looking anyone in the eye. He misses them, but he knows he makes them uncomfortable and it hurts to see it on their faces. 

His head is bent down, scanning the clear boxes on the shelves for something halfway appetizing, when he hears Hunk go, “Ohhhhh.” 

Ro looks over to find Hunk staring back at him. 

“You’re the one doing all the cooking lately, aren’t you?” Hunk asks. 

Ro hesitates, but straightens up and offers a reluctant nod, noticing Pidge looking over in surprise out of the corner of his eye before she huffs and shakes her head. 

Hunk’s expression turns contemplative, brow furrowed, and then he shrugs. “Well... thanks, man. Almost anything is better than food goo.” 

Ro blinks. He manages to drag his gaze over to Lance, who smiles and tips his head in acknowledgement, and then to Pidge who’s muttering something to herself along the lines of, “Stupid, should have figured that out.”

“Um, yeah,” Ro says finally, turning back to Hunk and trying to force his lips to curl up in something slightly better than a grimace. “No problem.” 

“Yes, thank you, Ro,” Lance adds, smiling. “You must be spending a ton of time in here figuring out all the equipment and strange ingredients.” 

“I don’t really have anything else to do,” Ro says, and then tries not to wince over the accidental honesty. 

If the others notice, they don’t comment on it. Instead, Lance immediately launches into an exhaustive and distracting explanation of some dance he saw on one of the planets during the Voltron Show tour and how the weird costumes the dancers wore looked way too much like a stegosaurus to be coincidence. 

Once he has his food, Ro almost leaves to squirrel away in his room for the rest of the night, but the blinding smile Lance levels at him when he chuckles at something Hunk says before he can go makes it too hard. 

And it goes okay, eating with the three of them. It’s nothing like it was before, with Pidge still pausing almost imperceptibly before saying his name and the way she and Hunk still can’t quite look him in the eye half the time, but they look like they’re  _ trying _ and that’s enough. 

So… it’s okay, at least. 

~~~ 

At least, it’s okay until they’re screaming at him for poisoning them, for trying to kill them, for not being  _ grateful  _ that they let him stay on the ship at all  _ you monster! _ Until their cries and accusations bring someone running, someone familiar but  _ wrong _ , someone with his hair and his clothes and his face and his  _ eyes _ , cold as steel and dark with rage. Eyes that flash and shift with  _ golden light _ —

A glowing arm of violet fire punches through his chest with a crunch of shattered bones. 

He gasps, pinned, that familiar —  _ wrong! _ — face peering down at him, and the other’s mouth stretches in a grim, satisfied smile. The muscles in the arm lodged in his ribcage shift as a fist clenches around his still beating heart. Blood drips to the floor, spattering the backs of his legs and pooling under his feet and all he can do is gasp for air, lift pleading eyes up to that face that is  _ his _ , it should be  _ his own _ , and he  _ feels it _ when the fist tightens,  _ squeezes, _ crushes unrelentingly around his heart until it bursts.

Ro lurches out of the dream and out of his bed with a gasp, sweaty and cold and heaving. The plasteel floor stings cold beneath his clammy palms, and it’s dark and chilly in his room, but he doesn’t want to turn the light — he can’t hide under their white harsh glare — and some deep, sick,  _ broken  _ part of Ro longs for the soft purple light and desert atmosphere of the Galra ships. Even that would be better than this cold, pristine, impersonal Altean ship that’s only felt like it could be home back when the people on it were his family. Now it feels more like a prison cell than anything he remembers from his — from  _ Shiro’s _ — year as an  _ actual _ prisoner. 

And his court date is  _ still  _ looming over him, some indefinite time in the future, and he wants to pull his hair out from all this waiting. 

It makes his skin itch, muscles jittery and tense with the need to flee, to go somewhere, to  _ move _ , and it’s so late Ro doesn’t even bother sneaking quietly past the Paladins’ rooms, just yanks on his shoes and jogs all the way to the training deck. 

It’s far from the first time he’s come down here on nights when he can’t sleep, doesn’t want to sleep, can’t go  _ back _ to sleep because what his mind conjures is more terrifying than almost anything he’s ever encountered in reality. So Ro turns on just enough of the lights to see and starts a combat sequence, one that will slowly ramp up in difficulty until he’s sore and exhausted — enough to maybe pass out for another hour or two until he has to go start breakfast. 

He lets himself get lost in a haze of movement, reaction, instinct - the only way to survive the fight is to block everything else out, all that he is and knows and cares about, all the things that dog his heels, hounding him with worry and fear and dread. Fighting to survive is the simplest state in the world to exist in and he  _ needs _ the simplicity, the purity, the serenity. 

Nothing exists but his blade and his enemies and the ground beneath his feet, so when one of those disappears — the last two gladiators dropping through the floor before he’s even managed to lay a scratch on them — he almost falls on his face. He hears a voice calling out, but it’s indistinct, incomprehensible, and he turns toward it with adrenaline still surging under his skin, itching and scrambling and  _ hunting _ for enemies. 

And all the blood drains out of his face.

It’s him, himself, _his own_ _face _staring back at him — hair and eyes and nose and scar and it’s not _right_. But he’s seen this before, he knows what it is. He thought he’d woken up already, but this is just another nightmare. He’ll watch his own eyes turn gold, rancid purple staining his skin and his fingers morphing to jagged metal claws that tear at his flesh, gouge deep and hook into his _soul_, tearing him to pieces and grinning at the mess of gore. He’s seen it before, a dozen times, a hundred times, _too many_ times, and he _can’t_. He can’t do it again. Can’t just stand here and let this horrifying, monstrous reflection of himself tear him to pieces. 

He won’t let this twisted, vicious  _ thing _ do this anymore, even if it is just a dream.

His hand flares purple and he charges — toward the chance to crush the nightmare before it begins, toward the chance of getting some _sleep _again. He leaps into the air and pulls his hand back to cut, to slash, to _rend_, but he’s not fast enough — too tired and weak with fear and sleep loss and _weariness _— and the double throws an arm out and catches him around the waist. 

It’s like he ran into an iron bar, breath punching out of him as the  _ other _ him lifts him up and slams him to the ground. The double shoves and grabs at him as he tries to push  _ it _ up and off, wrestling him back down and pinning his legs, fighting to trap his wrists. He pounds at its chest and shoulders, punching its head and pulling its hair, snarling and cursing and trying to get free, but he can’t, he  _ can’t _ , even in his own dreams he has no strength, no power, no  _ control _ and he’s choking on a sob when the double rears back and slaps him across the face. 

“Ro, stop!” it shouts, and the sound of that name, the name that’s his but  _ not his _ , jarrs him out of the dream and he wakes up. 

Except... he’s been awake the whole time and this isn’t a dream. Ro blinks, taking in the dim training deck, the mussed jacket and tipped-over water bottle he left by the door, Shiro’s body bracing him against the floor and Shiro’s half wary, half furious expression above him. And Ro sags, breath gushing out on a heavy, shaky exhale and he closes his eyes, blocking it all out. 

“Shit,” he rasps.

“You’re compromised,” Shiro says, and it’s loud and grating in the otherwise silent room and Ro’s eyes fly open. 

“No, it’s—” 

“You need to go,” Shiro growls, fingers digging into Ro’s shoulder so hard he’s probably going to bruise. “You can’t be on this ship, you’re a danger to everyone here. You’re lucky it was me that—” 

“Shiro, wait,  _ please! _ ” 

Shiro stiffens, finally actually _looking at_ _him._

Ro takes in a breath, hands trembling where they’re still tangled in Shiro’s shirt, and tries to figure out how to explain. “It wasn’t— I was in survival mode,” he says, knowing Shiro will recognize the phrase he’d used inside his head to describe the haze of instinct he always fell into in the arena, the only way he could cope with what he had to do. “I heard someone approaching and I saw my— saw  _ your _ face, and all I could see was that… that  _ thing  _ Haggar made with the glowing eyes and I—” 

Ro closes his eyes again and sucks in another inhale, trying to steady the tremor in his voice. “I wasn’t compromised,” he says, intentionally phrasing it so that he only means that  _ just now _ he wasn’t, because he has no proof for anything more than that. “I thought I was dreaming,” he finishes, voice dropping to a whisper. He hates admitting it, revealing that weakness, but the truth is the only thing that Shiro is likely to understand and accept as a valid explanation. 

And even then, it’s not necessarily enough; Shiro could easily justify forcing him to leave. 

Slowly, cautiously, Shiro climbs off of him and sits down at his side, elbows braced on bent knees. Ro expects him to leave, maybe with nothing more than a grudging acceptance of Ro’s explanation, but instead he just sits there, staring off into the distance for so long that Ro’s breathing evens out and he rocks up to sit hunched over his own knees, waiting for the gavel to — hopefully,  _ finally _ — fall. 

“I… killed the Ravoxian cub,” Shiro says, breaking the silence. 

Ro blinks, looking over, but Shiro is still staring off at the end of the training deck. “What?” 

“Tonight. I dreamed I killed the Ravoxian cub,” Shiro repeats. 

Oh. 

_ Shit. _

Ro remembers that cub. Or,  _ has _ memories of it, rather. A tiny kid with blue tufted ears and eyes that sparkled like constellations. He’d refused,  _ refused _ to spill the child’s blood, and they’d brought Shiro back to the arena three days later and chained him to the top of a pillar to watch a meximot tear the cub into pieces with its teeth. The guards had left him in his bloodstained clothes for  _ weeks _ . He’s been wondering ever since if not killing the child when it was in front of him was really the right choice. 

“I’ve had that dream a dozen times by now and it’s always quick, I’m always merciful,” Shiro continues, voice cracking over the last word. “But I can never decide if it makes me feel better or worse than his screams did.” 

Ro swallows, tearing his gaze away to stare down at the floor and think. 

This is not the final decision he thought was coming. This isn’t a decision of any kind  _ at all _ . Instead, it sounds like an olive branch, a statement of understanding, a chance at… civility, maybe. It’s not what he was expecting, but… it could be a chance, a better one than he’s dared to let himself hope for. And more than that, it’s a chance to connect with Shiro, personally, and that makes something inside him pulse with unexpected  _ need _ . 

Ro could leave it at this, let the silence remain unbroken, if semi-companionable. They’ve both basically said all that needs saying to show they get it, they understand each other’s headspace a little, but it’s not enough to actually  _ feel _ like it’s enough, to bridge whatever gap Shiro has left open that Ro could cross to make this continue. 

And he  _ wants _ it to continue. 

So Ro says, quietly, “I see myself,” curling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. “I see myself with glowing yellow eyes and blood on my hands and I can’t do anything to stop me from hurting—” And he can’t finish that statement. Because it should be that he can’t stop it from hurting  _ others _ , and that  _ is _ part of it, but what really terrifies him the most is when the thing with his face turns on  _ him _ . When it rips him out of existence before he can even scream. 

But he has no idea how to say that to Shiro, not when Shiro’s the one it  _ already  _ happened to. 

Shiro’s eyes go dim and distant, breathing out a shaky, unsteady sigh, and he nods. “Yeah. I get that one too.” 

They both fall silent after that, Shiro staring at nothing and Ro’s gaze boring into the floor until his eyelids start to drag, droop, something about the quiet rhythm of Shiro’s breathing lulling him into a daze. Everything gets blurry, warm, and he slumps over against something firm and soft and hears a quiet murmur in his ear, something like “Up you get.” 

And then there’s nothing but a sense of weightlessness and encroaching, comforting darkness. 


	4. Chapter 4

Ro wakes up in his own bed the next morning, confused as to how he got there, and then decides not to spend any more time thinking about it. Because the answer should be obvious, but it’s too ridiculous to be the truth. Shiro’s barely even looked at him since he arrived, why the hell would he carry a sleeping Ro back to his room? Understanding the mental state he was in last night and offering some commiseration is not the same as completely changing his opinion about Ro. He must‘ve just roused Ro enough for him to walk back on his own and Ro was too out of it for the memory to stick. 

Satisfied with that explanation, Ro pulls himself out of bed and gets dressed for the day. Somehow it’s still early enough for him to run to the kitchen and throw something quick together — just eggs and their “toast-approximate” concoction, but it’s close enough to Earth food for everyone to refrain from complaining about how the Altean oven always makes the bread taste a bit like burned wires. 

There’s  _ not _ enough time for Ro to eat his own breakfast before everyone else shows up, however, so he’s only taken a few bites when the others settle down with their own plates. For some reason, Shiro sits across from him even though he’s sat as far from Ro as he can get at every meal Ro’s attended before now. 

It’s unnerving, especially after the mysterious and practically civil interaction the night before, and the way Shiro keeps glancing up at him in between poking and prodding at his food isn’t helping.

The others are all well into their meals — chatting noisily between bites — when Ro can’t take it anymore. Shiro flicks his eyes up to Ro  _ again _ , something like nervousness and curiosity in his gaze, and Ro snaps. 

“ _ What? _ ” he bites out, slamming his fork down. 

The table falls silent at his outburst and Ro feels his face heat. He’s been trying so hard to not draw attention to himself and now he’s ruined that whole effort. But maybe all the staring will make Shiro  _ stop _ . 

But Shiro searches his face for a long moment and asks a little hesitantly, “Did you sleep okay?” 

Ro blinks, shoulders lifting and falling automatically in a half-hearted shrug even as his mind runs in circles trying to figure out what’s going on in Shiro’s head. “Fine, I guess.”

Shiro continues searching his face for a moment before murmuring a quiet, “Good,” and then starts eating again. 

Ro can feel the others’ eyes lingering, their confusion and curiosity almost tangible, until they must finally decide nothing more worth watching is going to happen and return to their conversations. 

Ro goes back to picking absently at his food, too thrown to care about eating. He nearly jumps out of his skin when Shiro speaks again a few minutes later, still soft and quiet like before. 

“Do you— Would you want to spar together tonight?” he asks, and when Ro glances up, Shiro’s peering through his lashes, shoulders slightly hunched and eyes cautious, but oddly determined. “It’s just— Allura’s the only other one good enough to be a challenge and she has Coalition stuff to do that I’m still not up to speed with.”

Ro searches his gaze thoroughly, looking for a lie, a trick — the malice that could be lurking under the continuation of this olive-branch facade — but he can’t find anything. Maybe it’s because Ro’s not that great at reading the expressions on his own face, not when the only thing he sees in the mirror lately is apprehension and exhaustion. But what if Shiro is being sincere? What if he really is trying to give Ro a chance to prove he doesn’t want to hurt any of them. 

Or maybe Shiro’s just decided it’s safer to keep a closer eye on him, that even if Ro doesn’t  _ want _ to hurt the team he could still end up doing so unwillingly if Haggar really is behind this and in control of him. In which case, this isn’t sympathy or understanding, but necessity; just the leader of Voltron guarding against a threat. 

Or  _ maybe  _ Shiro has actually decided it’s time to end the stalemate, that he’s playing civil to lure Ro to the training deck where a convenient “accident” can happen. It seems a little out of character, but how would Ro know? They’ve never dealt with anything like this before, and if it were the other way around Ro knows he would do  _ anything _ to keep his family safe. 

If he were the one with such a mysterious threat in his presence, he’d take it out without mercy, too. 

When he still thought he was Shiro, he trusted his own judgments when it came to protecting his team. He trusted Allura. He trusts them now. If Shiro’s planning to eliminate him, Ro will let it happen. He doesn’t think he’s dangerous enough of a threat to warrant it, and he doesn’t  _ want _ to die, but there’s no way to know if he can trust his own judgment anymore. And at least the agonizing wait of the last few weeks will be over. 

So Ro nods in agreement, the tension in his shoulders easing with the knowledge that something is finally happening,  _ changing _ , choices about his future are being made. He won’t be stuck in this limbo anymore. 

Shiro doesn’t smile, exactly, but the lines on his face relax and he nods back. “Seven?” he asks. 

Ro nods again and looks back down at his food, unable to handle Shiro’s gaze any longer. “Alright.” 

And Shiro doesn’t answer, doesn’t speak to him again for the rest of the meal, and it’s awkward, but it’s also the first time that Ro hasn’t felt a cloud of tension hovering over them. It may just be because they’re approaching an end to their biggest problem, but it’s something. 

And it’s good enough for Ro. 

~~~

Ro still isn’t sure what to expect when he gets to the training deck that evening, but Shiro just nods in greeting when he catches sight of Ro and asks “Level two?”

Ro frowns at the low number, wondering if Shiro wants to ease them into this whole sparring together thing — he normally trains as high as at least level three on most sequences — or if he thinks Ro isn’t as good as him since he didn’t  _ technically _ ever fight in the rings. He’s not exactly pleased at the idea of being underestimated, not when he’s fought people and monsters just as tough as anything Shiro faced as Champion, but he’d probably be wondering the same thing in Shiro’s position. It’s probably the most delicate way Shiro could appease his curiosity, so Ro settles for a simple nod in agreement. 

Shiro nods back and pulls out the black bayard, and Ro can’t help but stare at it, a surge of longing and curiosity rising up. 

When he first got back — and again, after Black let him fly — Ro had tried to use it, but it hadn’t responded to him so he’d had Coran stow it back in the storage room where all the other Paladin suits and bayards had been when they first arrived on Arus. And since he’s not been training with them at all since Coran deemed Shiro fighting-fit again, he’s not seen Shiro use it yet either. 

Shiro activates it in a flash of light and then he’s got his hand wrapped around the horizontal handle of a weapon eerily similar to the one he used the most in the gladiator rings. It’s got the heavy, hooked blade of a medium-sized axe with half a cross-guard that doubles as a handle above the weapon’s two-handed grip. It’s sleek, shimmering white, with black streaks running up the shaft and through the bottom edge of the axe blade, and it comes to a wickedly sharp point. 

Ro has a memory of being absently intrigued several hours after ripping the weapon out of the sentry’s grip at the arena, the first time he’d used it. Such an odd combination of weapons he was fortunately already familiar with. But even as his skill with it had grown, he'd slowly come to hate the feel of it in his hand. 

Ro isn’t sure how Shiro can stand to use it now, or why the bayard chose  _ that _ , when there are plenty of other weapons he’s more than proficient with. 

But he doesn’t have any time to ponder further, because a gladiator drops out of the ceiling and the training sequence starts. 

Whatever Shiro’s reasoning for starting them on such a low level, it turns out to be a good thing because they are  _ terrible _ at working as a team. Ro figures it’s because they have almost the same brain, the same memories, the same instincts — the gladiator rushes forward and Ro and Shiro move to duck past it at the same time and crash into each other. Ro groans, already feeling the bruises swelling as he pushes up from the floor and looks around. 

Shiro’s just getting up too and the gladiator charges in again, staff spinning madly. Ro lights his hand up and ducks underneath its arm, slashing at its leg on the way past. By then, Shiro’s up and he executes the same move on the other side, cleaving through the protective armor and severing enough wiring that both the gladiator’s legs jerk awkwardly when it moves. 

It doesn’t slow down much, though, and the next time it rushes forward, Ro and Shiro are too close together, bumping into one another as they try to dodge. The gladiator slams the staff sideways into both of their chests, tossing them halfway across the room. Ro leaps to his feet almost before he’s landed, wincing when his shoulder protests the quick movement, and barely ducks in time when the gladiator takes another swing at him. 

It doesn’t get any better. 

Every time Ro turns around Shiro is right there, blocking his way or slowing him down because he’s going in the same direction. They bump into each other when they dodge, get tangled up in the other’s legs when they move, and almost slice through each other’s limbs when they go to attack the gladiator at the same time. 

It’s a mess, and Ro is out of breath and bruised all over after only a couple minutes. The worst part is how Shiro keeps getting more and more frustrated, cursing and growling and increasingly aggressive in his attacks, and the tension is making Ro’s shoulders tight with apprehension. At any other time he’d be getting just as irritated himself, but the  _ reason _ for Shiro’s frustration drowns out any chance of Ro feeling the same anger. He’s just tense, waiting to see if Shiro will get sick enough of the struggle and turn on Ro. 

They’ve been at it for what feels like nearly ten minutes when Ro has to leap to the side to avoid Shiro charging toward the gladiator’s blind spot and gets a staff to the ribs on his way out. It hits hard, knocking him over and rolling a couple of times before coming to a stop on his back. Ro stares up at the blinding lights and groans. 

“End training sequence!” Shiro calls out, jogging over. He crouches down at Ro’s side and gives him a quick look over, expression pinched. “You okay?”

Ro shrugs, a little surprised by Shiro’s seeming concern, and inhales slowly through his nose before letting it out on a huff of wry laughter. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting it to go quite like this.”

“What  _ were _ you expecting?” Shiro asks, brow quirked.

It seems stupid to say what he was  _ actually _ thinking, that he was half-expecting to not leave the training deck alive, so Ro gropes for some other explanation. “Not sure, exactly. If I’d thought about it at all, maybe more Raleigh and Mako than the first day of Paladin training.” 

Shiro barks out a surprised laugh and shakes his head, plopping down on his ass. “Yeah,” he agrees, wiping the sweat off his face and neck. “Me too, I think.” 

Ro snorts, and then pauses, actually mulling that idea over for a minute. 

There might be something to it, actually, the way drift compatible people work with each other — not by being the  _ same _ , but by being able to anticipate the other’s moves and complement them perfectly. Ro thinks he can make it work but he has to try to figure out how to phrase it well. The idea could go over really well if he explains it right, but it also has the potential of making Shiro lose his temper again; Ro hasn’t forgotten the last time he vocalized a decision in combat training.

So instead of trying to put it into words, he pushes himself up from the floor and lights his arm up. “Come on, I wanna try something.” 

Shiro frowns skeptically, but rises and pulls his bayard out again, calling out for the sequence to start over. 

This time, Ro holds back, just for a second, and  _ thinks _ . He knows Shiro’s moves, knows his style inside and out, and if they were enemies, knowing all of that would be a huge advantage. But it’s an even bigger advantage as allies, because Ro knows all the empty spaces where Shiro can’t be and what openings he can’t take and that means he can  _ fill them _ . 

So he does. He uses his instinctual knowledge of what Shiro is going to do, where he will be, and puts himself somewhere else doing something to complement that. 

It’s not perfect, not even close. It’s  _ work _ to think as quickly as he needs to, to fight his initial instincts  _ and _ find ways to work  _ with _ Shiro without hindering him. He’s working against years of training and practice and effort to solidify the style Shiro and he both share now and it’s fucking difficult. But the handful of moments where he gets something right, or even  _ almost  _ right, is enough to convince him to keep trying, that all the sweat and bruises and pain will be worth it if they keep working on it. 

If  _ Shiro  _ wants to keep working on it, anyway.

Once the final, broken gladiator drops through the floor, signifying the end of the sequence, Shiro puts his hands on his hips, pulling in deep, noisy breaths, and pants out, “Okay, I’m done. That was better, but I think we’ve taken enough abuse for one day.”

“Okay,” Ro agrees, perfectly willing to avoid obtaining any more bruises. He’s content enough that his idea panned out, even a little. He shuts down his arm and stretches both of them up over his head, cataloguing where the pull of muscle and skin aches and stings the most. Nothing some ice and some rest won’t fix, but the discomfort will probably make falling asleep even harder than usual. 

“So…” Shiro says, glancing over. “Same time tomorrow?” 

Ro blinks, looking up, a little thrown both by the lack of cold distance or lingering anger in his gaze  _ and  _ the request to do this again. It wasn’t a total disaster by the end, but Ro really didn’t expect Shiro to have any desire to put themselves through this a second time. 

Of course, Ro wasn’t, and still isn’t, sure what Shiro was wanting to do this for in the first place. Maybe it really is just because he wants a sparring partner? 

Ro doesn’t really have a good excuse not to do this again, and those brief moments of almost-success are stuck in his brain now; he wants the chance to get  _ better _ . 

So he says, “Uh, sure. Sounds good,” and follows Shiro out of the training deck.

Neither of them speaks as they head back to their rooms for the night, but Shiro gives him a little nod when they part ways, and Ro wonders again if maybe there  _ is  _ no ulterior motive to Shiro’s civility. That maybe he really is  _ trying _ . 

Wondering precisely what he’s trying  _ for  _ — what he wants out of this — is what keeps Ro up most of the night.

~~~ 

It takes three days for Ro to start getting the hang of things, to go left when his first instinct is to dodge right, to slip around to the back while Shiro goes for an immediate opening; to provide a distraction when normally he’d jump back for a breather or to reevaluate. He’s fighting every habit, every impulse that’s ingrained into his muscles — his instincts, his brain, his stolen memories — and it’s fucking  _ hard _ . Every night he falls into his bed sore and stiff and aching and, surprisingly enough, it’s actually making it  _ easier  _ to fall asleep. 

He just still can’t  _ stay  _ asleep. 

The trade off is that he’s becoming the perfect fighting partner for Shiro. When he takes a second to think _ , _ he knows Shiro’s style inside and out, backwards and forwards. It’s difficult to find or make time during a fight  _ to _ think about it, but when he does it’s like magic, how he can only imagine drift compatibility would be. And the first time they work in perfect tandem — just three seconds of utter synchronization to pull off a flawless feint and killing strike — Shiro throws his arms up in the air in excited victory, laughing breathlessly, and Ro collapses on the floor, heart pounding madly in his chest. 

After that it gets easier; the burst of energy and motivation from that single success driving Ro forward and fueling him to work at it even harder. By the end of the week they’ve worked their way back up to level three and they’re winning twice as much as they’re losing. 

And they haven’t crashed into each other even once in the last two days. 

Ro is riding the high of it, reveling in the way he and Shiro flow around each other like water, like mind readers, like they’ve been fighting together for months or years instead of days. Every time they beat the level it’s faster than the previous time, smoother, easier, and as they’re finishing up the last battle sequence of the night, Ro’s gaze keeps snagging on the animated excitement on Shiro’s face. 

Shiro ducks under the gladiator’s sword, severing the artificial ligaments in its left hamstring on his way past, and Ro leaps in as it staggers and plunges his hand through the central computer in the gladiator’s midsection. He tears his arm free with a hiss of melting metal and sparking circuitry and the broken machine falls through the hole that opens up in the floor. He turns to face Shiro, something bright and warm surging through his stomach when Shiro’s face splits into a wide, pleased smile. 

“Holy crap!” someone shouts, and Ro whips his head around to see Lance standing in the open doorway to the training deck, mouth hanging open in surprise. “That was amazing! How long have you two been able to do that?” 

Ro sees Shiro’s smile widen into a delighted grin as he shifts his weight over onto one hip, stowing his bayard. “Not long. I needed a sparring partner that could keep up.” 

Lance’s eyes are sparkling, bright like sunlight on the ocean. Watching the two of them smiling at each other makes something in Ro’s chest go tight, that warm happiness in his stomach twisting up and going stiff and cold. 

_ Well, damn _ . He’d been half hoping that wouldn’t be an issue anymore.

“It was  _ awesome _ ,” Lance continues. “Talk about teamwork, geez. You guys were killing it.” 

“Thanks,” Shiro says, still smiling. 

Ro glances between them, heart aching and unsure which hurts more — Lance’s obvious admiration for and infatuation with  _ Shiro _ , or the fact that Shiro’s smile looks so much lighter and easier and happier when it’s directed at Lance than when it’s directed at  _ him _ . 

Things are calmer between him and Shiro, now, no outright hostility, and two weeks ago that was the most Ro could even hope for. It shouldn’t feel inadequate. 

“Oh, hey,” Lance says, “I just remembered. Hunk tried making cookies again yesterday after that nightmare of a battle and I swear to you, no joke, they taste almost  _ exactly _ like peanut butter. Even Pidge agrees. I was already coming to find you guys to get you to come try them, but now you definitely need to. Post-training carbs, y’know?” 

Shiro glances over at Ro in question, and the fact that he wants Ro’s opinion before he agrees is— is  _ something _ , something huge, and it helps soothe the twisted emotions rolling around in his chest. 

“Okay,” Ro shrugs. 

Lance leads the way to the kitchen, babbling about anything and everything the whole while , and when they get to the kitchen Hunk is there, rolling out some kind of dough on the table. 

He looks up and smiles at Lance when they round the corner, but then he sees Shiro and Ro and his eyes widen. “Oh, hey... Shiro, guys. Uh, Ro, do you want me to make up a plate for you or something?” he asks, gaze flicking rapidly from him to Shiro and back again. 

The two of them haven’t exactly advertised the fact that they’re sparring together every day, and outside of that they’re still not really speaking to each other, so Ro can’t blame Hunk for being surprised that they’ve shown up somewhere together willingly  _ and  _ that Ro isn’t taking the quickest escape route. And since he’s  _ not _ planning to leave, even though it’s incredibly strange to be spending time with everyone outside of training, Ro shakes his head. 

“No, Lance said you made peanut butter cookies?” he asks, gaze flicking over to Shiro, who’s pulling out a chair for himself across the island from Hunk. 

Lance roots around in the “space fridge” and pulls out a sloshing jug with a quiet noise of victory. He starts filling up some cups, saying, “These two just finished an epic spar and they need carbs. I figured your latest successful experiment would be better than those galyan chips.” 

Hunk’s eyes drifts back to Ro and Shiro, brow furrowing. “So… you’re— you’re getting along?” 

“We’re trying,” Shiro grants, voice inflected like a shrug even as he stares down at his folded hands and avoids everyone’s gaze. 

Ro kind of wants to scoff at the inclusive use of “we,” and the way Hunk’s narrow gaze is firmly fixed on Shiro seems almost suspicious, defensive. Ro wants to think Hunk recognizes that  _ Shiro _ is the one with the power in this situation — that he’s the one making things difficult the last few weeks — and that he doesn’t like how Shiro’s sharing the blame. If that’s really the case, Ro appreciates it, the support, but if he’s being honest, there are worse ways Shiro could cope and Ro knows that if their positions were reversed he’d probably be doing the same thing.

But whatever his thoughts are, Hunk lets it go, watching Shiro quietly for a long moment before going back to his dough rolling with an easy smile. “Well awesome, I’m glad. Hey, Lance, can you pass me that doohickey with the green knob on the end? Oh, and the cookies are in the box on top of the skinny cupboard.” 

And that seems to be that. 

Surprisingly, it’s almost easy to sit there and be  _ part  _ of what’s going on, rather than an outsider looking in. Lance launches into a dramatized retelling of what he saw of Shiro and Ro’s spar and the two of them snicker quietly over some of his more colorful descriptions while Hunk nods along like it’s all completely realistic. It’s fun and  _ normal _ , so much like the way things used to be, and every now and then his gaze snags on Shiro sitting next to him and he stumbles over the  _ strangeness _ of it. 

But it’s not bad. 

It just… seems too good to be true. Ro still doesn’t understand Shiro’s one-eighty in behavior from just a few days ago and he doesn’t want to get used to it, not if there’s still another shoe that’s going to drop. 

The cookies really do taste almost exactly like peanut butter, though, even if the flavor comes from some bulbous fruit that makes them bright purple, and Ro eats five between bouts of laughter before his jaw cracks on a massive yawn. 

“Okay, I’m wiped, guys,” he says, running a hand over his face with a groan. “I think I’m gonna head to bed. Thank you for the cookies, Hunk, they were great.” 

Hunk smiles and nods in thanks. “Yeah, they did turn out pretty good, I’ll have to make them again some time. Night!” 

“Night!” Lance calls. 

Surprisingly, Shiro pushes up from the table and says goodnight to the others too, following Ro out. He walks alongside Ro silently until they’re around the next corner and then glances over warily. 

“Coran told me you’ve been helping with the Coalition paperwork again,” Shiro says, “finding all the important stuff to give to Allura so she doesn’t have to worry about sorting through all of it.” 

Ro tenses and peers at him sidelong. If Shiro tells him he doesn’t have the right to look through the reports, like he’d forcefully pushed him out of training, then the only thing Ro will have left to do is helping Coran with maintenance around the castle and cooking for everyone. The less he contributes, the less reason there is to keep him around. 

But if Ro’s honest with himself, the part that scares him the most is the possibility of all those hours of free time, time with nothing to do but wallow in his thoughts. He might literally go insane. 

Ro nods hesitantly, offering a quiet, “Yeah,” and letting it trail off like a question. 

“Do you—“ Shiro stops, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “You mind if I help you?” he asks. 

Ro’s eyes widen.

“It’s just— All I’ve been doing since I got back is resting and training,” Shiro goes on. “Which is all I really did before, but that’s because we didn’t  _ have _ all these other responsibilities. I’m the leader of the team and therefore a leader of the Coalition, so I should know all the ins and outs of what’s going on, but I don’t want to dive in and start doling out orders. I need to start at the bottom, work my way up, know all the little things so I can make informed judgments and calls.” 

“And you want  _ me  _ to teach you?” Ro asks, nerves settling, but a little baffled. Is Shiro voluntarily choosing to spend  _ more _ time with him? Especially when he could go to Allura or even Coran to get the same information? 

“Yes, and it’s not just because Allura and Coran don’t have a lot of spare time,” Shiro answers, as if he’s read Ro’s mind. “If what everyone says is true, then you’re the one who’s been handling the bulk of all of this, you know the details better than anyone.” 

Ro kind of wants to ask who’s been talking about him, who said something that puts him in such a positive light when he  _ knows _ he’s been kind of a shitty, iron-fisted leader more often than not. Ro did all the mission planning and had the final say out in the field  _ and _ handled most of the paperwork because he’s a control freak and needs to know everything, just like Shiro; there just hadn’t been as much opportunity for that to show before the battle with Zarkon. 

Then again, if he were really Shiro, if he’d been able to step back into the role of Black Paladin without a fuss, maybe he wouldn’t have been so desperate to  _ have  _ that control. 

But Ro doesn’t have the energy to figure that out right now and he’s not even sure he really wants to know, so he just says, “I usually go to the conference room on level twenty-three after lunch.” 

“So I’ll see you then?” Shiro asks, just as they’re approaching Ro’s room. 

Ro nods silently, and Shiro ducks his head in acknowledgment. 

“Thanks,” he says. 

And then he walks off toward his room, leaving Ro standing alone in the hallway, confused and hopeful and maybe a little frightened. 

Unlike his quiet, distant civility the very first couple of days, Shiro truly seems to be making an effort to  _ accept _ Ro’s presence, maybe even outright welcome him. If Ro were anyone else, he’d think Shiro was trying to be  _ friends _ with him, but that can’t be right. If for no other reason, why would Shiro want to keep Ro around when he’s a constant reminder of what the Galra have done to him, taken from him, tried to do to his team — his  _ family _ ? Even if he could acknowledge that none of it is Ro’s fault, still... 

How can he bear to even  _ look _ at Ro? 

Ro doesn’t even want to look at  _ himself _ . Not necessarily because he hates himself… He just hates what it means that he exists in the first place. And he can’t figure out how to consolidate the memories he has with who, or what, he actually is, can’t figure out how he feels about it. It seems more likely that Shiro might still be waiting for Ro to make a mistake, to give Shiro a good excuse to get rid of him. 

But  _ if _ … 

_ If _ Shiro is really trying to be okay with Ro’s presence, with  _ Ro _ , then… Then maybe Ro can learn to accept the possibility of that being the case without looking for the trick, the condition, the trigger that will cause it all to blow up in his face.

~~~ 

Shiro shows up in the conference room about an hour after Ro does, freshly showered and rubbing at his stomach. 

“Eat too much?” Ro asks. 

Shiro nods with a groan as he sinks into the chair next to Ro. “Yeah, that lasagna adjacent thing you made was great, almost the same as home’s.” 

Ro blinks. 

Shiro’s brow quirks. “Come on, it took about three days to figure out it wasn’t Coran or Hunk, and who else could it be?” 

“I—“ Ro’s voice cracks so bad he has to stop and get a drink from the bottle he brought with him. 

It’s stupid — Coran, Hunk, Lance, and Pidge already know and they’re fine with it, but finding out what  _ Shiro _ thinks is more daunting, even a little frightening. He’d been so hostile after their fight, resentment Ro’s very presence pouring off of him in waves, and Ro’s still half-tensed for an outburst. 

“I wasn’t trying to hide it from everyone,” Ro finally manages. “I just... didn’t know how to bring it up. Besides, at first I wasn’t sure if anyone would be comfortable with it anyway.” 

“I’m pretty sure they’re all dying to make requests, actually,” Shiro says, brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Now that you know the secret’s  _ totally _ out, you should come get dinner tonight so they can all put in their votes.” 

Ro shrugs rather than offering a definitive answer he’ll have to defend and starts skimming over the folders and reports on his datapad. “Do you have your pad with you?” he asks, and nods when Shiro holds his up. “Okay, so to start, it’s easier to do this on one of the consoles, since they’re bigger, but I’ll show you how to do it on your pad, too. First you have to get into the drop-box-slash-filing system Pidge and Allura set up. Tap on that squiggling loop symbol in the left corner.” 

Shiro does as instructed and the rest of the afternoon is filled with Ro’s quiet explanations on how to work the system, what folders to sort through, where to put all the files and reports, and what to do with the information therein. Shiro is attentive, professional, soaking up everything Ro tells him like a sponge, and within an hour he’s got the information memorized well enough that Ro lets him sort through a portion of what’s left on his own while Ro takes care of the rest. 

And it’s… kind of nice, having Shiro there. 

The conference table is absolutely crammed with chairs and since Shiro’s sitting right next to him, his shoulder is barely an inch away from Ro’s, close enough to feel the heat coming off of his body and to hear his slow, steady breathing in the otherwise silent room. Every now and then Shiro asks a question or shifts in his seat, little moments of noise that keep bringing Ro’s focus back to the task at hand. His mind keeps wandering away from the bland reports to the ball of apprehension strung tight in his chest, but somehow just having Shiro in the room helps, settling his constant anticipation over an inevitably harsh, but still ambiguous future he’s already resigned himself to. He chose to accept whatever they decide, he’s just not sure he’ll ever feel ready for it, and the waiting is torture. 

But Shiro’s here and he’s being downright civil, completely different from how he was with Ro just a week ago, and Ro can’t help the way it eases the tension 

The practical side of his brain wants to keep reminding him to keep his guard up, that he still doesn’t know Shiro’s long-term intentions, but it’s getting more and more difficult to listen to that part of himself when Shiro is being so… genial. It’s all too easy to relax in the quiet, easy atmosphere and stop worrying. 

A couple of hours later they finish up and Ro transfers the last of the high-priority reports into Allura’s personal folder while Shiro pushes up from his chair and stretches his arms over his head with a groan. 

“So, what are you doing after this?” Shiro asks. 

Ro double checks that everything is where it should be and sets his datapad down on the table with a click of glass on glass. “What do you mean?” 

Shiro quirks a brow. “I mean, what do you normally do with the rest of your day? Dinner isn’t for like two more hours and half of the time you don’t even show up for it. So what do you do after you finish the logs?”

Ro watches him carefully for a moment, wondering what the sudden curiosity over how he spends his time is about. Maybe Shiro just wants to keep tabs on him. Maybe he’s looking for something suspicious in his behavior. But it’s hard to think that’s the case after his sincere request to go over the logs last night and the comfortable, companionable presence he’s been all day. 

Squaring his shoulders, Ro pushes the lingering fear aside; for now, he's going to trust Shiro, take him at face value. So he gets up and walks out of the room, gesturing for Shiro to follow. 

Ro leads them down the hall and into the elevator, taking it up to the level he’d been on the day before when he’d left to spar with Shiro. His box of tools and cleaning supplies is hovering at the entrance to the ventilation shaft he needs to start on next, so Ro crouches down to pull off the grate over the opening and gestures into the dark tunnel. 

“Lately, I’ve been dusting vents,” he says, answering Shiro’s earlier question. 

Shiro’s brow quirks and he glances back and forth between the box of cleaning supplies and the open vent. “I see.” 

“There’s way more work around the castle than Coran can handle,” Ro explains, standing up to grab a clean rag and a bucket from the kit, “and I don’t like sitting around twiddling my thumbs.” 

“You get that from my side of the family, I think,” Shiro quips, lips quirked, and then immediately cringes. “Fuck. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” 

Ro fights hard to keep from wincing too — who’s the other side of the “family?” Haggar? — and pushes a flash of hurt at the careless joke aside. He knows it’s just Shiro’s habit of using dark humor to deal with all the trauma and crap, but it’s a little different hearing it come from someone else’s mouth instead of his own. 

Sort of someone else’s, anyway. 

Ro works up a shrug and roots through the hover kit, pretending to look for something so he doesn’t have to see Shiro’s face. “I’m pretty sure that’s the high-functioning PTSD, actually,” he offers. 

And Shiro snorts quietly, but doesn’t respond, accepting the unspoken forgiveness. He reaches into the hover kit, then, and grabs the spare bucket and rag. “Okay, show me what to do.” 

Ro lifts a brow in faint surprise, but does so, showing Shiro where to fill the bucket with water and cleaning solution and what parts of the vents need wiping down. For a while there’s not much said aside from basic directions from Ro to Shiro and hushed swearing about the cramped crawlway. 

And this is nice, too, nice like it was up in the conference room to have the easy, quiety companionship. Too many of Ro’s days have been spent almost entirely alone, lately, and despite the dark joke Ro feels peaceful, relaxed, and he lets his mind wander. Lets it drift over and around all the things he needs to think about just enough to sort through them, give some consideration to them without  _ dwelling _ on them. He doesn’t want to get swept up in memories and heartache and his impatience over his pending future, he just wants to slowly work his way through what he  _ can _ deal with and enjoy this moment, here and now, when it’s quiet and calm. 

Eventually, Shiro pulls out his datapad to check the time and declares that they’ll be late to dinner if they don’t get a move-on and that he, at least, is calling it quits for the day. 

Ro figures he shouldn’t avoid a meal when there’s someone around to witness the pathetic excuses he has for skipping, and shimmies out of the vents after him. Just as his head is emerging, Shiro wrings a rag out over Ro’s head and Ro splutters, spitting dusty water out of his mouth and shaking it out of his hair. “Fuck! Shiro!” 

Shiro cackles, darting out of reach, and it’s so  _ juvenile _ , like something Lance would pull, that Ro doesn’t even question whether it was done out of malice. 

He’s too busy looking slyly at the pristine and  _ dry  _ expanse of Shiro’s clothing; it’s practically  _ calling _ to him, begging for him to get his revenge. 

Something in Ro’s expression must give him away because Shiro’s eyes widen and he shouts “Ro, don’t you—“ just as Ro tumbles the rest of the way out of the vent, gets a hand around his bucket, and flings the whole thing right into Shiro’s face. 

_ Shiro  _ is the one spluttering now, wiping water out of his eyes while Ro bursts out laughing at the affronted look on his face. 

At least, he’s laughing until he notices how Shiro’s shirt is clinging to him — he took off the vest ages ago, so it’s sticking to the ridges of his abdomen, outlining the thick curves of his biceps and showing off the V of his hips, and Ro’s cheeks start heating before he blanches, swinging around to start picking up the mess they’ve made. 

Shiro is chuckling as he wrings out his clothes - oblivious to Ro’s sudden crisis - and the sound is warm and bright and almost as good as watching those tiny droplets of water as they roll down his neck when Ro can’t resist taking a peek at him. 

Swallowing tightly, Ro shoves down the direction his thoughts have gone just like he’s shoving all the supplies back in the kit: with merciless determination. 

Footsteps sound from down the hall just as he’s finishing and Pidge emerges from around the nearest corner. She looks them up and down, eyebrows slowly climbing up to her hairline before her lip quirks. “Nice threads.” 

Shiro drags his flesh hand down his face and shakes his head. “Pidge, that slang is too old for our  _ grandparents’ _ grandparents.  _ Why? _ ” 

She shrugs, grinning. “To be honest, it’s probably just Lance rubbing off on me, but hey. It got _that_ _one_ to smile finally, so I’ll count it as a win.” She turns to look at Ro and he blinks, realizing that his lips are stretched in a tiny grin of amusement. 

Has he really not…? 

Ro instinctively glances over at Shiro, half--intending to ask him if he really hasn’t been smiling at all, but gets derailed when he finds Shiro staring back at him, gaze piercing, but the expression on his face is unfamiliar and hard to describe. Kind of confused and… maybe a little frightened? Surprised? Ro’s still learning to read Shiro’s expressions and it’s hard to guess when he’s never seen that look in particular on his face before. 

“Come on,” Pidge says, cutting into his thoughts. “I have orders to make sure you both make it upstairs for dinner because Hunk has been locked in the kitchen since lunch and it’s supposed to be a feast.” 

“We’ll be there,” Shiro promises, turning away from Ro with a minute shake of his head. “I’m gonna need to stop by my room and change, though.” 

“Me too,” Ro says, dragging himself away from his wandering thoughts. “I feel pretty gross from all the dust in those shafts.” 

“I could just dump the  _ other  _ bucket of water on  _ you _ ,” Shiro says, grinning. “Wash it right off.” 

“With how much dirt is in that bucket he’ll probably just get  _ dirtier _ ,” Pidge says, nose wrinkled in disgust. “But whatever, just hurry it up.” And then she turns and walks off. 

Ro turns to look at Shiro just as Shiro turns to look at him, and both their mouths curl up with identical grins . 

~~~

Everyone else is already waiting in the dining room when they arrive — steaming platters of food clustered in the center of the table — and the only seats left are right next to each other. Regardless of the fact that they’ve been sitting close together all afternoon, it feels strange, forbidden even, to be so near to Shiro when there are other people around to see. It makes Ro self-conscious, hyper-aware of everyone’s gazes.

Allura is watching him surreptitiously — suspiciously — still wary and cautious, but thankfully the others are more loose, relaxed, not even batting an eye when Shiro eases into the seat next to Ro without complaint. 

“Hey Ro,” Hunk says. “I’m glad you showed up, I wanted you to try this.” 

“Yeah, and it took you long enough,” Pidge says, diving for the nearest platter of food to start filling her plate. “We were starving to death waiting for you.” 

“Sorry,” Shiro says, grinning at the theatrics. “Had to shower.” 

“Were you training again?” Lance asks through a mouthful of food. 

Shiro shakes his head. “Nah, Ro had me cleaning access shafts all afternoon.” 

“And there are plenty more where those came from, if any of you would like to join in!” Coran chirps, handing Allura an artfully arranged dish. “The castle could use a few more enthusiastic hands to clean her up!” 

Hunk and Lance look at each other and shrug. 

“Sure, why not?” Lance says.

Pidge’s expression turns thoughtful for a moment. “Well, I’ve hit a bit of a snag on my current project. I could probably use a break. Are you going back to cleaning after dinner?” 

“No,” Ro says, shaking his head as he piles food on his plate. “We usually spar in the evenings, once dinner has settled.” 

Lance lights up and he turns to Pidge in excitement. “Oh yeah! You should see it Pidge, they’re amazing! All of you should come watch!”

Pidge lifts a brow in obvious skepticism. “Not to be a downer, but I’ve seen Shiro and Ro fight plenty of times. Nothing new there, even if it  _ is _ rather impressive.” 

“Yeah, but you’ve never seen them fight  _ together _ ,” Lance points out, and then waggles his eyebrows. “Seriously, Pidge, it’s like they can read each other’s  _ minds _ . Mine was — “ he pauses to make a sound like an explosion, fists flicking open by his temples, “— blown.” 

Pidge snorts, shaking her head. “Whatever. Sure, fine, I’ll come watch them spar.” Her gaze turns toward Shiro and Ro, questioning. “As long as that’s okay?” 

Shiro glances over at him, a silent  _ That okay with you? _ going unvoiced, but still obvious in his expression. 

Ro’s a little thrown by Shiro immediately looking for his opinion, just like he was yesterday about the cookies, but shrugs and swallows his mouthful of food. “Fine with me.” If it were a week ago, when they were still ramming into each other and getting knocked around by the gladiator, he would have hated the audience. But they’ve come a long way and a large part of him is excited at the chance to show off. 

And if there’s another, smaller, part of him hoping it will be a point in his favor toward getting put back in the field — even if he’ll never be a Paladin again — no one will blame him, will they? 

While Ro was lost in thought and chewing absentmindedly, Coran had apparently agreed to come with as well, strong-armed in that brief minute by Lance to take a break from his own duties for the length of a simulation or two. 

Allura’s brow pinches, but otherwise her expression remains unreadable. When Lance turns to her to ask if she is coming as well, she slowly shakes her head. “I have Coalition reports that cannot wait any longer.” And with that, she rises, dropping her napkin over her mostly-untouched plate of food and nodding at Hunk. “Thank you for the food Hunk, it was delicious,” she says, glancing over at Coran before she strides off toward the bridge. 

They all watch her leave, silence hovering over the group for a long moment before Lance lets out a brief sigh and goes back to chatting with Hunk and Pidge, debating what simulations they should have Shiro and Ro go through for them. 

Ro sees Shiro smiling at them in amusement and feels something flutter in his chest again. He jerks his gaze away, eyes landing on Coran who’s staring down at Allura’s chair with the slightest of furrows between his brows. 

“Coran?” Ro asks. 

Coran’s gaze flicks up to him and his expression morphs back to his usual cheerful one, nodding at Ro and bending to pick up Allura’s discarded dishes. “The two of you usually head to the training deck around your nineteenth Earth hour, yes?” 

When Ro nods in affirmation, Coran smiles cheerfully. “I will be there, then” he says, and leaves for the kitchen with the dirty dishes in hand.

The sound of a thoughtful hum draws Ro’s eyes over to Shiro, who’s staring at the door Coran just disappeared through. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Coran look troubled like that before,” he murmurs, quiet enough not to draw the attention of the other three. “Not since Allura was captured.” 

Ro nods, but doesn’t say anything. There isn’t really a way to voice that he’s pretty sure it’s his fault. Coran is obviously okay with it, but Allura still doesn’t seem to want him here, so if Ro would just leave then there would be nothing for the two Alteans to disagree on. At least, nothing serious enough to leave Coran feeling so conflicted. 

Ro’s stomach twists and tightens. Every time he starts to feel like he can stay, something gets thrown in his face to remind him he shouldn’t, that the team hasn’t fully accepted him and his presence is disruptive, redundant. 

He shoves back in his chair and throws a quick, “see you later,” at Shiro before striding out himself. 

He isn’t hungry anymore. 

~~~ 

Ro shows up to the training deck a bit earlier than usual, but somehow Shiro is still there before him, laid out on the floor with his left leg pulled perpendicular across his right, back twisted in a clean curve and his arms spread wide. He’s relaxed, breathing slowly as he lets his spine and laterals stretch slowly and carefully, but his muscles are lengthened and defined, and the smooth, elegant lines and contours make Ro’s mouth go dry. 

He whirls around and sets his towel and bottle of water down by the wall. 

It’s absurd — that’s  _ his _ body over there — or, well, not  _ his _ , it’s Shiro’s.  _ Still  _ — something must be seriously wrong with him to be flushed and wanting at the sight of it. 

But there’s no point in thinking about it, so Ro shoves the thought away with a vengeance - resolving to ignore it for the rest of eternity - and starts going through his own stretching, keeping his back to Shiro the whole time. 

Coran and the other Paladins show up a few minutes later, gathering together on the fringes of the room, and Lance gestures excitedly for them to start. 

“Ready?” Shiro asks, looking at Ro. 

Ro nods and Shiro calls for the sequence the others must have decided on after Ro left dinner early, and they dive straight into the fight. It’s one of their better runs, thankfully, smooth and quick and successful, and the Paladins are whooping with excitement and encouragement by the time the gladiator drops through the floor a few minutes later. 

“Oh my gosh, that was amazing! You weren’t kidding, Lance, they’ve got telepathy or something!” 

Hunk has his data pad out, scribbling notes and muttering to himself about some of the moves they’d used that he could adapt for himself, and Coran comes over and claps a hand to each of their shoulders. 

“That was magnificent, Number Ones! As graceful and coordinated as any pack of Yelmores I’ve ever seen.” 

Shiro chuckles. “Thanks Coran.” 

Ro sees Lance making a complicated expression of amusement and confusion, mouthing “Number  _ Ones _ ” to himself, before shaking it off and catching Ro watching him. His grin comes back, blinding, and he throws two thumbs up. “Wanna go again? I think Hunk could use more material.” 

Hunk shrugs, still tapping away. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that takedown Shiro used again. I don’t think I’m flexible enough to do it myself, but I can probably adapt it.”

Shiro looks at Hunk in mild surprise, and glances Ro’s way before turning back to the others. “Do you guys… want to join us? You could go grab your armor and we could try a few things.” 

Hunk looks up. “You wouldn’t mind? I mean, this is usually your guys’ time, I can wait to try it during team training.” 

Part of Ro wants to agree with him — he’s started to  _ enjoy _ having this time just for him and Shiro, but he also knows that it’s beneficial almost exclusively to himself, nothing other than a more strenuous spar for Shiro to keep himself at peak performance. And wear him out to make sleep a little more attainable, maybe, if he still has the same trouble Ro inherited from him. But the point is, working with the team is more important than Ro’s sudden desire to monopolize Shiro’s time. 

So he nods and waves them all off. “Go on, go get changed.” 

The three of them practically bolt out of the room in their eagerness, and Coran smiles fondly at them before begging off the coming activities. “I’m sure the Princess could use my help.” 

He leaves, and Ro turns to see Shiro palming the back of his neck and looking uncomfortable. 

“Would you—“ he pauses, clearing his throat before continuing. “Would you tell me about the training you guys did while I was gone?”

Ro blinks, thrown. This is a complete reversal from just a few weeks ago when Shiro blatantly ignored anything Ro tried to say about the very same subject. And by the way Shiro’s avoiding Ro’s gaze, he’s more than aware of the fact. Is he... trying to apologize? 

“I… had Pidge sparring with Hunk, mostly,” Ro starts, tentatively. “She’s been decent at it from the start, but I wanted her to get some solid, consistent practice with going up against larger opponents.” 

Shiro nods along, expression turning focused and attentive, and — feeling encouraged — Ro continues. 

“I also took her to a city on Torsik Mar to work on freerunning and acrobatics with the Torsiva. I figured it would give her some ideas on how to make the cable form of her bayard more versatile. Her creativity since then has gone through the roof.” 

“I noticed that,” Shiro murmurs, eyes glued to Ro’s face. 

The intensity of his gaze makes Ro’s cheeks heat up, so he barrels on, not wanting to think about it beyond that. “Allura and Lance are mostly fine, honestly,” he says. “Allura knows the castle systems well enough to train with her whip on her own, and she’s always done well in team training. Outside of the Lions, anyway, and when we’re not doing team stuff Lance spends a lot of time at the range. He unlocked a sword form with his bayard just before you came back, though, so we’d started working on that whenever I had the time.”

“Did you tell Keith about that?” Shiro asks, mouth quirked. He’s probably wondering how the Red Paladin would react to someone else on the team running around with a blade, especially  _ Lance _ . 

Ro shakes his head. “We can’t communicate with him when he’s on a mission and he’s only been back the one time, the same week you came back. I’d not gotten around to talking to him about it yet before he left.” 

“Okay,” Shiro says, nodding. “If the two of them can keep from bickering, he’d be the best one to teach Lance how to use his sword, I think.” 

“I’m pretty sure the only way they know  _ how _ to communicate is by bickering, at this point,” Ro says, and the chuckle it pulls out of Shiro makes his own lips twitch with a pleased smile. “Anyway, Hunk started taking notes when I began sparring with him one-on-one once a week or so. Allura and I are the only ones who can hit hard enough to compare to Galran strength and I wanted him to get used to standing his ground and waiting for the right moment. He doesn’t have the same speed and agility as the others, but if he gets an opening he can drop anyone in a hit or two.” 

“You remembered that left hook, huh?” Shiro asks, rubbing his jaw where Hunk had caught him off guard once back before he’d disappeared and knocked him flat on his back. 

Ro swallows, stomach clenching uncomfortably at the direct mention of… of  _ that _ — their shared memories and the unanswered questions of his identity — but manages to nod. “I was planning to have all of them try out different combat styles and weapons from the armory, too, after Lance got the sword. I was hoping it might bring out some new bayard forms, hopefully so each of them can have a close range and a mid- or long-range weapon.” 

Shiro hums thoughtfully, pulling out his own deactivated bayard and staring at it. It flashes and morphs into his usual tonfa-axe, and then, as he keeps staring, it flashes again and he’s gripping a javelin. 

“Holy shit,” Ro breathes. 

Shiro’s mouth curls up and he runs his hand along the shaft and up over the speared tip, getting a feel for the shape and weight of the weapon. After a moment, he turns and strides off toward the edge of the training deck and shifts to face the far end of the room. “Long range target, stationary, diameter one meter,” he calls out, and as the requested target rises up from the floor he takes a short running start and launches the weapon forward. 

The javelin arches gracefully through the air and descends, gaining speed and slamming into the dead center of the target with a satisfying  _ thwap _ . 

Ro whistles in appreciation, turning to see Shiro still half in his throwing stance, right leg stretched out behind him and left forearm resting on his bent knee as he stares across the room at the target with a pleased grin on his face. 

“Not bad, considering,” he says, turning to Ro. 

“Considering you haven’t done that since high school?” Ro asks. 

Shiro strides across the room to retrieve the bayard and reverts it back to its basic form. “Yeah, that. I’m going to have to take my own turns at the range, this room isn’t nearly long enough.” 

The doors slide open, then, admitting the Paladins back into the room before Ro can respond. 

“We’re back!” Pidge says, spinning her inert bayard around on her finger and grinning broadly. “What are we doing?” 

“I was thinking... I should probably watch you guys train the way you used to do with Ro,” Shiro says, glancing almost imperceptibly fast in his direction. “I know Allura isn’t here, so the dynamic will still be a little different, but I could use another look at what you guys worked on.” 

“Wait, what?” Ro blurts out, too surprised to censor himself. 

Shiro looks over and nods, gaze a bit hesitant. “You should train with them. Show me what you guys can do.” 

Ro can’t do anything but stare for a long moment. He knows he shouldn’t — this isn’t something that’s  _ his _ , and maybe Shiro is genuinely trying to silently apologize, but this could also be beneficial to him  _ and  _ the team. It’s unlikely Shiro’s doing this solely for Ro’s sake — but he’s being offered the chance to train with his team again, and when Ro glances at the other three their faces are excited and hopeful and encouraging. 

“Are you sure?” Ro asks, looking around at everyone. All of them nod and Ro’s breath hitches with a surge of gratefulness. 

He pushes the emotion aside for later, though, and gestures for the Paladins to move into position. They run a few sequences in the formations they’d been working on before and Shiro watches closely. He seems to be taking extensive mental notes this time, refraining from commenting or throwing out suggestions of any kind, and eventually they break apart so Ro and Shiro can work one-on-one with each of them. By the time they finish, everyone’s sweaty, sore, and exhausted, but they’re all smiling and Ro feels a little overwhelmed with the joy of working with his team again, watching them tackle challenges and show off their accomplishments and eagerly soak up all the knowledge and skills he can pass on. 

And Shiro has been listening just as intently the entire time, watching, eyes always already on Ro when Ro looks back, and the attention is nerve-wracking. For all that they have the same memories, he’s having a hard time knowing what Shiro’s thinking anymore.

“Hey, any chance we can do this again sometime?” Lance asks, breaking Ro out of his thoughts. “Obviously evenings are  _ your _ thing, but having  _ two _ leaders around to give us attention has made this little hour of work more productive than the same amount of time usually is.” 

Shiro hums thoughtfully before turning to Ro. “Actually, I was thinking you should start coming to morning practices again.” 

Ro’s heart thumps painfully in his chest and he blinks in surprise. “Really?” 

“Yeah, really,” Shiro nods. “We won’t have a hot lunch waiting for us anymore if you do, but I think having you on the training deck every day would be more helpful.” 

Ro looks around at the others and finds all three of them looking at him with hopeful, encouraging smiles again, and he can’t help the way his own lips curl up in grateful relief. “Well… alright. As long as Allura agrees.” 

Shiro nods. “I’ll ask her first thing in the morning and let you know. Alright, the rest of you get out. We all need to get some rest before morning.” 

Pidge groans, tilting her head back. “Ugh, Shiro, you’re such an old man. It’s like eight thirty.” 

“Eight  _ thirty _ ?” Lance shouts, lurching over to check Hunk’s data pad where it’s still resting on the floor. “Guys, I  _ need _ my nine hours of sleep every night and now I’m behind schedule! I’ll lose my well-rested glow!” 

Hunk shakes his head, reaching over and plucking his pad out of Lance’s hands. He wraps a steady arm around Lance’s shoulders and starts corralling him out of the room. “Well then, come on, the sooner you get started the less dim you’ll be in the morning.” 

Pidge snorts, following. “Nah, Lance will always be a little dim.” 

The last Ro hears as the doors close behind them is Lance’s indignant squawk, and he chuckles quietly, shaking his head. He looks over at Shiro and quirks a brow. “You coming?” 

Shiro nods, a bit absently with his brow pinched in thought, but he walks alongside Ro dutifully as they slowly follow in the wake of the Paladins up toward the living quarters. They turn the corner just in time to see the elevator door sliding shut, and they lean lazily up against opposite walls as they wait for it to come back down. 

“You know,” Shiro says, breaking the silence, “our fighting style was pretty much the same before you started working to change it, but you’ve got completely different ideas for group combat and strategy.” 

Ro shrugs. “It’s just... different experience, I think.” He pauses, searching Shiro’s face for any sign of irritation or offense, but he only looks curious, patiently waiting for Ro to explain. 

“You haven’t been in a lot of the battles and situations I have,” Ro continues hesitantly, maybe even a little apologetically, not that there’s anything he can do about what’s happened, not really. “All of that… it pushed me to look at the field from a different angle, try new things. A lot of what we’ve started doing is because each new circumstance forced me to learn, to branch out and expand our skillset beyond what we already knew. Not to mention everything we’ve learned from working with the Blade of Marmora, the rebels, and all the planets in the Coalition. Besides, none of the cadets were ready for more than the basics until just before you fought Zarkon, and then you were too busy preparing for that to start planning more advanced training regimes.” 

Shiro hums, but doesn’t disagree, and he frowns after a moment. “I… I need to apologize to you,” he says. “Before — I brushed you off and even ridiculed you when you were trying to tell me about the team. You were doing that for  _ them _ so they could keep improving, but I thought you were just trying to take my—“

“Stop!” Ro cuts him off, pausing to suck in a shaky breath, his heart pounding so hard it  _ hurts _ . He knows exactly where Shiro was going with that sentence and he doesn’t want to hear the words out loud, not even like this. “Please,” he rasps. “Don’t. You don’t— there’s nothing you need to apologize for.” 

“Ro—“ Shiro starts, but Ro shakes his head and backs away. 

“Just don’t,” he repeats. “Don’t worry about it.” And then he flees, taking off into the endless hallways of the castle before Shiro can say anything else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [art](https://impendingexodus.tumblr.com/post/186803360842/looks-like-ro-and-shiro-are-finally-on-the-same) by Impending Exodus.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s awkward for a couple of days. 

Ro doesn’t avoid Shiro — doesn’t stay away from his usual tasks or ask Shiro to leave when he joins him — but that’s because neither of them are really talking to each other at all. Instead, a weighted, “speaking” kind of silence hangs over them during their afternoons sorting files and the hours working on the ship  _ and  _ in their evening spars — broken only by shifting fabric, murmured questions from Shiro about the filing, and grunts of effort. They do talk to each other, but not about anything that might affect the renewed hesitancy between them; not about anything that would answer the questions obviously hanging on the tips of their tongues.

Shiro did get Allura’s permission for Ro to start joining in during team training in the mornings, but Ro’s avoiding it for the time being. Things are uncomfortable enough already and they don’t need a repeat of any of the awful team training sessions Ro’s been a part of since Shiro’s return. 

Ro doesn’t know what it will take to break the tension. 

“You want a try?” Lance asks. 

Ro blinks, looking over to where Lance is standing the wrong way in his firing lane, facing Ro with his head tilted invitingly toward the backstop of the range. 

“I can’t use your bayard,” Ro points out, glancing down at the white and red rifle in Lance’s grip. 

“I know,” Lance says, “but there’s a ton of Altean weapons in the armory over there.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb at a set of doors opposite the ones they entered through. 

“I guess I could use some practice,” Ro says, pushing himself up from the bench he’d been sitting on while Lance did his own practicing. Ro’s avoiding castle maintenance for the afternoon in an attempt to get a break from the awkwardness hovering over him and Shiro, but he still wants company and Lance never spurns his. “You gonna share some of your wisdom with me, O Masterful Sharpshooter?” 

Lance hums thoughtfully, head tilted and his rifle propped against his shoulder. “I like the sound of that — ‘Masterful Sharpshooter.’ Think I could get Coran to use that as my call sign on missions?” 

Ro snorts. “I doubt it, he’s pretty attached to his numbering system.” 

They push through the armory doors, then, and Ro lets out a low whistle of appreciation. The room isn’t large, no more than eight feet across or so, but every inch of the four walls holds some kind of projectile weapon, everything from glistening throwing knives to a sniper rifle as long as Lance is tall. All of them are sleek and white and dangerous-looking, like pretty much everything else of Altean design that Ro has seen. 

Lance stands back by the door while Ro browses — presumably already familiar with the contents of the room, which is proven true when he rambles off the basic specs of anything Ro lingers over. 

Eventually, Ro settles on something similar to a Galra blaster, partially since if he ever ends up back on missions, that’s going to be his most available option for an emergency weapon. But part of him is also remembering the unrelenting terror and desperation during the last time he held one. He wants to overwrite it all, bury the memories in something more mundane. What better way than an hour of staring at a blank white target while Lance chatters endlessly a few feet away? 

They go back out to the range and Ro takes Lance’s spot on the line, firing off a few shots to get a feel of things. “Got any tips?” he asks, looking over his shoulder. 

Lance comes over and takes the blaster out of his hands. He messes around with it much as Ro had, hefting the weight, running his hands over it, and firing off a shot or two before handing it back. “Alright, I think I got it. Take your stance.” 

Ro does, and Lance walks back-and-forth in a half circle behind him, critical eyes sweeping up and down, and then uses some gentle taps and nudges to make a few minute adjustments to Ro’s posture. It make’s Ro’s face heat a bit, having Lance’s laser focus trained on him, and he sees Lance’s mouth curve into a tiny smirk before he schools his features and gestures toward the targets.

“Try again,” Lance says, taking a step back. 

Ro fires off a few more rounds, and then lets his lips curve in a wry, mostly-unsurprised smile over the fact that just those few adjustments has instantly improved his accuracy. He glances over at Lance and finds him grinning broadly. 

“Okay, shake it out and get back to that exact stance again, if you can,” Lance says.

He makes Ro do that a few dozen times, loosening up and walking around before getting back into position, over and over again. Lance’s silent adjustments dwindle over time until Ro’s got the muscle memory down and no longer needs the help. 

“Alright, fire off a couple more shots,” Lance says, gaze serious and calculating, and after he’s taken in the battered target Ro leaves behind he offers another tip or two before retreating to the bench. 

Ro inhales and exhales slowly, steadily, and then works on memorizing the new information and making it  _ work _ , nothing for it but repetition. 

“So you gonna tell me what’s on your mind today that had you so lost in thought earlier?” Lance asks, breaking the relative silence a few long minutes later. 

Ro closes his eyes briefly, swallowing back a sigh, and then opens his eyes to take aim again. “Shiro uh… apologized to me,” he says, and fires. 

“Okay,” Lance trails off, like he’s trying to figure out if there’s some deeper meaning he’s not catching. “That’s kind of what decent people do when they realize they’ve been a dick to someone, especially to a friend.” 

“Yeah,” Ro says, trying to keep the majority of his focus on his aim rather than the swirling mess in his head. He’s not really sure he can count Shiro as a  _ friend _ , but that’s not even the point.

“I’m sensing a level of displeasure over the situation,” Lance says, and Ro can practically see the wry tilt to his mouth even with his back turned. 

Ro grunts in lieu of a shrug, not wanting to mess up the stance he’s only just getting the hang of. 

There’s a low, frustrated groan from behind him. “God, it’s like pulling teeth with you sometimes. Come on, Ro, talk to me. What is it?” 

Ro gives up and lets himself shrug, relaxing his arms until the blaster is pointed in the general vicinity of the floor and pulling his finger away from the trigger. “I guess I don’t think there’s anything he should be apologizing for. He’s pretty justified.” He doesn’t add that there’s still a small part of him afraid Shiro’s kindness toward him isn’t even sincere.

It’s quiet for a long moment, nearly a minute, and then Lance says, voice gentle and tight with concern, “Ro, look at me.” 

It’s  _ Lance _ , being vulnerable has always been easier with Lance, but it’s still excruciatingly difficult for Ro to turn around and face him. But Lance’s brow is pinched and his eyes are bright and his bottom lip is bruising red from worrying it between his teeth, projecting the same genuine, heartfelt concern Ro heard in his voice. 

“You’re right, Shiro has the right to be hurt and confused,” Lance says, still so quiet and gentle. “But so do you. You didn’t deserve being put through this either.” 

Ro’s eyes fall closed, hands tightening around the rifle grip until it creaks, and the next breath he takes in  _ aches _ . 

Footsteps approach and a warm, spindly hand lands on his bicep, curling around the muscle. “I think  _ both _ of you need some time to realize that you’re a real, unique person in your own right, regardless of where you come from,” Lance says, squeezing his arm. “There’s nothing Shiro can blame you for, which he seems to be recognizing already. So there’s no reason for  _ you _ to feel guilty, either.” 

Ro’s lips lift in a tired smile. “Easier said than done.” 

“You’ve got time,” Lance says, patting his back a few times before stepping away and returning to his bench. “Now, try again, you’ve still got work to do.” 

Ro smiles wanely, but does as he’s told, lifting the rifle back into position and firing at the target. 

~~~ 

Ro walks hesitantly over as Shiro’s mopping up the sweat on his neck and face after their sparring is over for the night, stomach twisting with nerves. This… well, it’s the first time he’s ever approached Shiro — except for maybe the time he tried to explain the team’s training regime during Shiro’s absence, but that had been business, necessity, something almost expected; or, at least, it should have been. 

But this is completely voluntary and for no other purpose than Ro’s increasing desire to end the awkward tension between them. He doesn’t know why Shiro’s been so quiet and uncertain the last few days, not when  _ Ro’s  _ the one who’s been thrown off balance, struggling to push down all the fears he’s been ignoring up until now so that he can go back to being around Shiro without breaking down at the slightest of hints about what —  _ who _ — he is. He’s been trying so hard to avoid talking about it, hearing about it, that he couldn’t even let Shiro apologize. 

He doesn’t  _ want _ Shiro to apologize, but that’s not even the heart of the problem. All this time, Ro’s been preparing himself for his inevitable expulsion from the ship — at the very least — been braced to accept it. 

But he’s  _ not  _ ready to face it. Any of it. He doesn’t want to hear a single syllable about his identity or his purpose. He thought he had already prepared for the worst, but here he is panicking over what might be the  _ best _ possible outcome, over Shiro possibly seeing him as his own person. And Ro just—  _ can’t _ .

Of course, it could be that he’s struggling so much with it precisely  _ because _ this is the complete opposite of what he was preparing himself for. He’d  _ hoped _ , but he’d never expected to have a positive future — or any future, maybe — and it had been an extremely tiny hope, one almost squashed entirely out of existence after the fight in Ro’s room. 

But now it’s different between them. Cautious, careful — barely more than an amiable acquaintanceship — but they were getting  _ somewhere _ , and it was good. And it was all founded on relative silence over the mystery hanging over them; Ro’s kind of terrified that bringing it up, putting out into the open will ruin it all. 

And he really just doesn’t feel ready to face it yet, what or who he is. 

So Shiro had tried to apologize, to talk about it all, and Ro had panicked.

He doesn’t know why his reaction has rocked  _ Shiro _ so much, too, but it doesn’t matter. At this point it’s obvious that if Ro ever wants them to start talking again  _ Ro _ is going to have to be the one to break the silence between them. 

And he  _ does _ want to. Every bit of ground they’ve gained has become so important to him, this slow path they’re on toward somewhere, some place Ro can’t see. He’s spent the entire journey anxious about the destination without even realizing that the path had changed direction when he wasn’t looking. But now they’ve been knocked off the road entirely and he can  _ see _ , see that they’re headed somewhere different, and there’s nothing he wants more than to get back  _ on _ . Even if it’s downright terrifying, the total ignorance to where they’re headed, it’s better than the dreadful resignation of before, when he knew and he accepted the destination, but  _ didn’t want to go _ . 

But Ro likes whatever was growing between them and he wants it back, wants to see what becomes of it. 

So he walks up to Shiro on the training deck, shoulders squared and insides squirming, and makes himself speak. “I don’t— I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. “At all. So can we just… not worry about it?” 

Shiro nods, but he rubs a palm over the back of his neck, eyes are apologetic. “If that’s what you want, I’ll respect it. It’s just… do you mean the apology, or…?” 

“Any of it,” Ro says, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes before dragging them down his face. “All of it. Me, you, my origins, whatever. I just— Not yet. Not until we have to.”

Shiro’s gaze roves over his face, expression unreadable, but eventually he gives a slow, tiny nod. “Yeah, alright.” 

Ro exhales shakily. “Thank you. I’ve been… kind of bothered by the silence between us.” 

Shiro’s eyes widen and then he looks down and fiddles with the water bottle in his hands for a second. “Pidge had some movies saved on her laptop from Earth and she figured out how to get them onto my data pad,” he says, voice rushed. “Do you… wanna watch one with me?” 

It’s a little out of left field, not anything like the things they’ve been doing together lately. It’s not something to benefit the team, or the castle’s functions, or even Shiro himself. It’s nothing more than a request for company, to spend time together for the sake of spending time together, and Ro’s so surprised he can’t do anything except stare for a long moment. 

This… is definitely beyond what he ever could have expected, more than what he ever thought Shiro would be willing to do, let alone  _ want _ to do, apparently, since he’s made the request completely voluntarily. 

And, well. Ro kind of wants to as well. He’s  _ liked _ spending time with Shiro — sparring and cleaning and doing paperwork — and there’s a high probability he’ll enjoy watching a movie with him too, so why not? 

Ro gives a small, tentative nod, something lurching in his chest when Shiro grins. 

“Great, we can go right now if you want?” Ro nods again and Shiro starts grabbing all their stuff — towels, water bottles, the data pads they both bring with them everywhere — before heading out of the training deck. “Come on,” he says over his shoulder. “I’ll let you borrow my shower before we settle in.” 

He’s walking so fast Ro has to jog to catch up, and he hopes that’ll be enough to disguise the sudden flush on his cheeks at the thought of being naked in Shiro’s room, even alone in the shower behind a closed door. “I uhh— I’ll still need to go back to my room for clothes so... I can just meet you there after I clean up?” he suggests. 

“Oh,“ Shiro says, pausing, and then he chuckles. “Didn’t think of that. Yeah, okay, sounds good. See you in twenty?” 

Ro nods, and while Shiro continues on down the hallway toward his room, Ro slips into his own. He forces himself to take a shower at his usual pace, neither rushing nor taking his time, and then heads down the hall to Shiro’s room, stomach twisting with nerves even worse than when he’d been psyching himself up to talk to Shiro earlier. 

It’s fine. Not a big deal. Just watching a movie in Shiro’s room. He has tons of memories of doing this with friends and this particular situation shouldn’t be any different. 

Except that it  _ is. _

Because he and Shiro aren’t friends and maybe won’t ever really be, not with what’s hanging between them. But Shiro’s been acting as if it’s possible, nice and patient and so — dare Ro say it —  _ understanding _ lately that the optimistic side of him is swearing up and down that everything will be fine. 

When Ro gets there and knocks, Shiro calls out for him to come in without even looking up from where he’s propping his data pad on the nightstand. It’s set up so that it’s projecting a holographic screen against the opposite wall, almost like at a movie theater. 

Ro hovers in the doorway wondering where he should sit. His options are limited to the floor and the bed, and the latter would be more comfortable, but he’s not sure he’d be welcome. 

As if reading his mind, Shiro looks up and smiles. “Sorry. Even in this huge room there’s nowhere to sit. You could move the pillows around and make a backrest against the wall up there?” he suggests, nodding toward the bed. 

So Ro climbs on and does just that, ignoring his nerves. 

“Any preferences?” Shiro asks. 

Ro shrugs, even though Shiro’s back is turned and can’t see the movement. “I don’t know what she has, honestly. We probably like the same—” and then he slams his mouth shut, ducking his head down so he can’t see whatever Shiro’s response might be.

There’s a brief pause and then Shiro says, voice wry, “I was more asking what you’re in the mood for right  _ now. _ ”

Ro swallows. “Oh. Um, no. No preferences.” 

Another pause, longer this time. Ro refuses to lift his head, still reluctant to see what expression Shiro is wearing. After he’d asked Shiro not to bring any of it up,  _ Ro  _ had been the one who’d almost gone and done just that, but Shiro doesn’t press. Just joins him on the bed and slides over so his back is to the wall, so close Ro can feel the heat coming off his body. 

The opening credits start up then, and Ro’s gaze darts up to the screen in surprise. It’s  _ Pacific Rim _ , and he can’t stop the amused chuckle that spills out of his lips.

Shiro offers up a shy grin, shrugging. “Couldn’t resist.” 

Ro smiles back and purposefully, intentionally lets his hands fall relaxed and limp in his lap as he tries to focus on the story and let go of his tension. It should be maddening, sitting so close in the dim, quiet, secluded space of Shiro’s bed in his room with the door closed, but he likes this movie and Shiro is exuding peaceful contentment, that steady, easy calm that got him promotion after promotion at the Garrison as well as the unwavering loyalty and readiness to follow from the team. 

Apparently, Ro isn’t immune to the effect of his aura either, and he lets it settle over him, soothe him, distract him from the more distracting things about Shiro. Besides, it’s easy to get caught up in the movie. It’s just as amazing, and he loves it just as much — though parts of it come across a little differently — as in his memories. Though maybe that’s just because now they’re fighting in their own giant robots against alien invaders, even if the real aliens haven’t actually gotten to Earth yet. Either way, the two hours pass swiftly and then Ron Pearlman’s character slices his way outside the baby kaiju’s body and the credits keep rolling. 

It startles him somehow, the end. Ro’s not ready for it to be over, for it to break up the friendly and relaxing atmosphere, but he clenches his hands and waits for Shiro to politely thank him for hanging out and say goodnight. 

Instead, Shiro blurts out, “Holy shit, Newton is Lance and Pidge’s secret lovechild.” 

Ro snorts so hard it  _ burns _ and buries his face in his hands, shaking his head and hoping it will dispel the mental image. But it’s stuck, never to be forgotten. “Oh my god, you’re right. That’s horrifying.” 

Shiro laughs, tipping his head back against the wall. “This is great, this is the first time anyone has ever gotten my references. No one else ever wanted to watch it with me, they always said it was too old or thought it was stupid.” 

Ro nods, all too aware of the many moments of quiet disappointment Shiro lived through when he discovered yet another person who wasn’t a fan of such an obscure cult film. “Yeah. Not exactly an award winner for some reason.” 

“I know, I don’t get it,” Shiro says. “And  _ no one _ on the team has seen it either, which is kind of ironic considering piloting giant robots to save the world is literally our life.”

Ro quirks a brow. “Why does Pidge even have it if she’s never seen it?” 

Shiro shrugs. “I don’t know, didn’t ask. I didn’t even know she had it until after she’d sent me the whole file of movies. To be fair, it’s a pretty eclectic mix, she’s even got some black and white films.” 

Ro’s brows raise. “Those still exist?” 

“Apparently,” Shiro says, shrugging again. “If it’s digital, it never truly goes away. Still, despite the variety, I was pretty surprised to find this one buried in there. I hadn’t seen it in years, not since before joining the Garrison. Maybe we should convince the team to sit down and watch it together, I bet Lance would love it.” 

Ro snorts, imagining it. “Yeah, probably. How long do you think it would take him to start giving all the Lions Jaeger call signs?” 

“A couple of hours at best, I think,” Shiro says, grinning. “Blue would probably love it and I bet Coran would get a kick out of it. Though, he wouldn’t do it seriously, I’m sure, not with how much he reveres all the Lions. Not sure about the rest of them, Paladins  _ or _ Lions.” 

“Downside to having  _ sentient _ giant robot weapons is they actually have opinions about themselves,” Ro says, and shrugs. “It does make them more useful in a fight, although I don’t think the Lions look as cool as the Jaegers.” He frowns. “Don’t tell Coran I said that.” 

Shiro chuckles. “Promise. But Voltron’s still pretty cool. Our sword is  _ at least _ as good as Gypsy Danger’s.”

“That’s true,” Ro agrees, nodding, and then it gets quiet, both of them apparently out of things to say. It isn’t all that surprising. The length of this civil conversation about  _ movies _ has gone on far longer than Ro expected, and definitely longer than any other conversation they’ve had. All the others have been about getting Shiro up to speed on training, or tactics for their sparring sessions, which hardly count.

But he still doesn’t want to leave, so his mind drifts back over the movie. “Raleigh comes back really different,” he says quietly. He’s pretty sure it was never anything he’d noticed before, but it seems obvious to him now how much more mature Raleigh became in comparison to how he was at the beginning. Maybe it wasn’t just having Yancy die while they were still connected that caused it, maybe it was because Raleigh had Yancy in his head all the time after that, too. Five years of living with all of someone else’s memories in addition to your own had to have an impact on… well, everything. 

Shiro hums, tipping his head back against the wall. “Hadn’t really thought about that before,” he admits, confirming Ro’s thoughts. “Maybe that’s why Chuck pisses him off so much. He reminds Raleigh a little of the way he used to be, all cocky and arrogant.” 

Ro shrugs. “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead, but yeah, maybe.” 

“So what  _ were _ you thinking?” 

“I guess I was wondering  _ why _ he changed,” Ro murmurs. “If it was really just grief, or maybe age and maturity. Or if it was because he had all of Yancy’s memories, too.” He feels the weight of Shiro’s gaze and turns his head, meeting Shiro’s eyes from less than a foot away and swallowing, suddenly aware of the direction he’s taken the conversation, the  _ significance _ of it. “Just— idle curiosity, I guess. Doesn’t matter.” 

Shiro’s silent for a long moment, looking at him, and then says, “It would make sense... I just can’t imagine what that would be like, I don’t even have all of my  _ own _ memories.”

Ro’s not really sure what to say to that so he doesn’t say anything, just holds Shiro’s gaze this time, feeling like he has to prove something, something that he won’t accomplish if he keeps turning away or closing his eyes. 

“Thanks for watching this with me,” Shiro says, quiet and sincere. “It’s nice to finally have someone to talk about it with.” 

Ro clears his throat, giving a jerky nod in acknowledgement. “No problem. I should, uh, probably get going. It’s late.” 

Shiro turns away — finally breaking eye contact — and sighs when he sees the time on his data pad. “Yeah. Should probably try and get some sleep tonight.” 

There’s a moment of awkward hesitance on both their parts, but eventually Ro forces himself to move, climbs off the bed and heads toward the door, stopping to look over his shoulder just as it’s sliding open. “Um, thanks,” he says, not entirely sure if he means just for tonight or more than that, but he leaves before Shiro can respond. 

They’ve ended the night on a good note; he doesn’t want to stay any longer and possibly ruining it. 

~~~

“A pop-tart is  _ not _ a sandwich,” Shiro insists, brow furrowed and pointing his fork at Lance imperiously. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No no no, just stop and think about it, “ Lance says, drumming his forefinger firmly against the dining room table like a gavel. “Two outer halves of bread with some kind of filling in between. That’s all a sandwich is, isn’t it? Just broaden your mind, Shiro! Let the wisdom of the universe speak to you!” 

Shiro looks incredulous. “Were you dropped on your head as a baby?” 

Lance leans closer over the table, expression serious, and whispers, “Enlightenment is bestowed upon humanity in many mysterious ways, Shiro.” 

Ro snorts, an ugly, obnoxious sound, and then he can’t stop from throwing his head back and laughing hysterically at the offronted look on Shiro’s face, heart light as Lance finally loses his own battle and starts snickering. 

Shiro scoffs, making a show of shoving up from his chair to gather his now empty dishes. “Whatever. A poptart still isn’t a sandwich.” Just as he’s about to leave, he pauses and turns back. “Oh, Ro. Can you come up to the bridge when you’re done? I’d like you to come to the briefing.” 

Ro blinks, staring up at Shiro for a long moment. Is this… is he letting Ro be involved in missions again? Seriously? “Umm, yeah. I’ll be there,” he manages, noticing Lance grinning madly at him from the corner of his eye. “Do I… need a suit?” he asks, hopeful anticipation warring with the ever-present pessimism in his gut. 

Shiro shakes his head. “No. It’s just a briefing right now, the mission isn’t until later.” 

Which… isn’t really an answer, but Ro nods and Shiro leaves, and then he turns toward Lance and finds him smiling like a loon. 

“You’re getting back on the bridge!” Lance crows, throwing his hands up in excitement.

Ro nods again, unable to stop the slow creep of an answering grin filling his face. He moves to quickly scarf down the rest of his breakfast so he can actually  _ go to the bridge _ and Lance sits there waiting for him even though he’s already done with his own food. 

The entire way up, Lance keeps shooting Ro broad, delighted smiles and elbowing him gently in the side, and Ro just keeps shaking his head in fond exasperation, even if on the inside he’s a little wobbly with excitement too. 

They’re the last to arrive — Pidge and Hunk are lounging lazily against their chairs and Coran is standing off to the side tugging on his mustache. Allura watches Ro reservedly, eyes attentive, but she must have agreed to let Ro back onto the bridge or she would have said something by now.

Shiro nods at him and Lance in greeting before immediately launching into the mission brief: “This is Stratyres, the only telluric planet in the Febriva system,” he says, gesturing up at the hologram of a small gray and brown planet right as a second hologram opens to the left, showcasing an elliptical galaxy. A bright red dot on one of its farthest points indicates the placement of the Febriva system, the closest its galaxy comes to any of its neighbors. “It’s also the first one in its entire galaxy to fall under Galra control, so if we can take it back, we’ll be removing the Empire’s only viable outpost into this section of the universe.” 

He drops a hand back down to the controls and zooms the holographic map in close on the planet, focusing on the eastern edge of one of the larger continents. “There are currently four Galra bases planetside,” Shiro continues, the four locations lighting up in vivid purple, “as well as two orbital ones. We’ll be starting planetside. One Lion will go to each base to take them out, while the fifth — Red — will be responsible for these...” a smattering of new purple dots light up around each base, “...anti-aircraft turrets at each base. They need to go down fast, Lance, get in and take them out before heading up to the skies. Start with the turrets at Pidge’s target, since Green has the lightest armor, but don’t worry about helping us with the bases. Once the turrets are down we shouldn’t have any problems, it’ll just take some time; the bases are huge.” 

“Got it,” Lance nods. 

Shiro dismisses the planetary map and enlarges the one showcasing the galaxy so that only the edge of the Febriva system and the void space around it are shown. The close up view shows two separate battleships and a dozen Galra cruisers patrolling the area. 

“Work on the bases is nearly finished,” Shiro explains. “When it is, these ‘ships will dock for maintenance and resupply before moving further into the galaxy, using Stratyres as a central hub for expanding Galra control. We need to stop them before that happens. A small squadron of rebels are meeting us to help keep these off our backs while we take out the bases on the ground. Ro, I’d like you to help Coran on the bridge with the castle’s defenses, it’s the only ship we have that’s powerful enough to hold off the battleships until we can get Voltron up into the sky.” 

For the second time in fifteen minutes Ro is left at a total loss for words. 

Despite his eagerness in asking if he’d need a suit earlier, he hadn’t thought he’d be more than a simple observer. It would ease his anxiety over the team’s safety to sit and  _ watch _ the missions play out, rather than waiting by himself for someone to finally cross his path and mention “oh yeah, we’re all fine,” but that was the most he was expecting to get out of this. 

But Shiro is letting him  _ help _ , putting him back at the helm — back where he was before everything went to shit — and Ro’s so blown away by how much of a leap of faith Shiro must be taking here that all he can do is nod in acknowledgement and croak out a wobbly, “Understood.” 

Shiro turns back to the others, hammering out the finer details of the mission and running a few contingency plans before dismissing them. 

Ro frowns, glancing up at the hologram and noticing for the first time that they’re not set to launch for another five varga.  The tone of the brief —  and the lack of a myriad of questions on the Paladins' part — is enough to let Ro know that this is a second briefing, not the preliminary.  _ This _ is the kind they usually do immediately pre-mission, already suited up and just before walking out the door, so it stays fresh in their minds.

“Hey, Shiro,” Ro calls, and waits for Shiro to look up from his data pad. “Why’d you do the briefing so early?” 

Shiro shrugs, but the corners of his mouth do this suspicious little twitch. “Allura didn’t give the okay to let you back on the bridge until this morning, and I figured you’d want some time to refamiliarize yourself with the castle’s controls and do your own prep, so I moved the brief up,” he says, and then turns back to his pad. 

Ro’s heart does a funny tug and jump in his chest, eyes fixed on the crease of Shiro’s brow, the thoughtful press of his hand over his mouth, the hunch of his shoulders as he directs all his energy into concentrating on the reports he’s skimming through. Ro would bet there’s a knowing smile hidden behind all the casual posturing.

“Well… thanks.”

“Uh huh,” Shiro says, and waves a shooing motion in his direction. “Now get to it, clock's ticking.”

Part of him wonders why he’s even surprised — it’s routine for pilots to do system checks before launch, even with the ships they fly every single day, and it’s even more of a routine to spend  _ at least _ a few hours practicing with a new one, especially before taking it up into the air for a mission. That’s common sense, nothing any good leader would begrudge a pilot under their command, regardless of personal feelings. Shiro’s not doing anything extraordinary by giving him some time to get back into the swing of things. But he’s squeezing it in at the last minute when he could have easily waited to bring Ro in on the next mission. 

Maybe  _ that’s  _ what makes it  _ feel  _ extraordinary. 

~~~ 

Ro and Coran spend the rest of the morning getting back into their old flow of operating everything in tandem — flying the ship, laying covering fire, keeping track of the Paladins and the overall battlefield. 

The difference now is the hierarchy. 

Things were messy before, when Keith was still flying Black. He was technically the leader and usually made calls out in the field for Voltron itself, but Ro did all the pre-mission strategizing, and the team usually followed his orders during missions if Ro thought there was a better way to do things than whatever Keith suggested. 

Shiro, however, is the undisputed, true leader of the team and Ro knows that he’s going to have to fight his instincts every step of the way, or else he’ll be issuing orders without thought. He’s so used to seeing how everything fits together when he’s on the bridge, monitoring the whole field and utilizing that knowledge to get Voltron into the most strategic position possible. But Ro’s method of operations, his insatiable need to control everything, is probably part of the reason Keith left. 

This mission is his first chance — maybe his  _ only _ chance — to prove that he can do better. Just as he’s adjusted his fighting style to suit sparring beside Shiro, Ro has to figure out how best to support this new team — one that doesn’t need him to lead the charge. He’ll figure it out.

Besides, it isn’t like Ro doesn’t have memories of valuing compromise and teamwork over rigid regulation, even if he can’t quite get  _ himself _ to prioritize that anymore, so he knows Shiro isn’t going to let him micromanage everything. But that’s not enough; he can’t risk complicating the mission by jockeying back and forth with Shiro for control, so he needs to  _ not start _ in the first place. Easier said than done, though. Keeping himself from  _ trying to  _ is going to be extremely difficult.

After lunch, the Paladins suit up and Allura opens a wormhole on the edge of the Febriva system. “Best of luck,” she tells Coran, gaze flicking briefly over Ro before she heads to her Lion and joins the team. Within moments, the Lions are racing down to their assigned bases. 

For the first ten minutes Ro doesn’t even have anything to do — Pidge has finally outfitted all five Lions with cloaking tech, so with the castleship and her rebel escort hidden behind a moon, the Galra barricade surrounding the planet will be completely ignorant to their presence until the bases start exploding. 

“Everyone ready?” Shiro asks, and a chorus of affirmatives sound through the comms. 

“Ready when you are,” Ro says, speaking for the castleship. 

“Alright team, let’s make this quick.” 

Lance whoops, the Red Lion’s dot on Ro’s map darting forward with astonishing speed as the two of them demolish all the anti-aircraft turrets in what might be the universe’s fastest drive-by. A faint echo of explosions starts coming through the other four Lions’ comm channels, but Ro doesn’t have the time to notice anything else because Coran has pulled the castle out from behind the moon, the rebels following in their wake.

As expected, the Galra contingent moves quickly, leaving their intergalactic post to hurry planetside, but the castleship and rebels engage them before they can even get near the planet’s surface. Ro lets Coran handle operating the ship, maneuvering and firing on the cruisers while he monitors the field and calls out targets and enemy movements for the rebels. 

Even after Lance gets up into space a few minutes later, Ro doesn’t slow down. It feels good, in a way he’d known he missed but hadn’t really  _ felt  _ until this moment, and it’s almost viscerally painful when the rest of Voltron arrives. Being back here in the action, commanding, makes him feel alive — worthy, valued,  _ needed _ — but when the rest of the Lions join them, Shiro takes about five seconds to assess the situation and then dives right back into commanding everything with his usual calm and authoritative efficiency. 

“Hunk, get over to the orbital station in the northern hemisphere and get to work,” he says, voice firm and decisive. “Pidge, Allura, watch his back and keep the cruisers distracted, they’ll probably be right on his tail once they see what he’s doing. Lance, we’re going to help the rebels take out the battleships. Got it?” 

Ro almost snaps at him for throwing out orders in a battle he’s just barely arrived at, as if it’s  _ his  _ to control when  _ Ro  _ is the one who’s been keeping everyone alive and on target and — he slams his mouth tightly closed, teeth clacking painfully, before anything stupid can come out of it. 

Everyone else shouts out affirmations as they move to follow Shiro’s orders. 

Fuck. Ro needs to be more careful or he’s going to get himself thrown off the bridge almost as soon as he’s been let back on. It isn’t the battle he needs to control anymore, but  _ himself _ . He drops his gaze back to the map, scanning the field. 

“Lance, you’ve got a squad coming up on your six. Skirt around—” Ro cuts himself off and closes his eyes, taking a breath. 

He’s not in charge, he can’t be giving out orders. 

“What was that, Ro?” Lance asks. “I think something screwed with the comm signal.” 

Suggestions —  _ tips _ — not commands. He can do this. “There are some fighters on your tail, if you lead them to the cruiser’s stern, Vercha and Olia might be able to pick them off for you.” 

“Copy that, Ro,” Olia says. “Lead them here, Paladin, we could use a few more targets.” 

“On my way,” Lance says through what sounds like gritted teeth. Ro tracks his path with half a dozen fighters firing relentlessly at Red’s tail until half of them explode in a spray of gold and orange as the rebel ships sweep through the lot. 

“Now that was fun,” Vercha says. “Who’s next?”

The rest of the battle goes the same way, Ro fighting his  _ own  _ battle against his instincts every time Shiro or someone else makes a judgement call, constantly working to quell the worried voice in his head whispering that they don’t see the field like he does, don’t know the best choices to make because they can’t see all the options. 

But in the end, it’s worth it. Ro keeps his mouth shut half of the time, letting Shiro dole out instructions, and frames everything he does say in the form of advice, ideas. It’s not easy, it’s worse than trying to change his fighting style and it feels risky to take the time out in the midst of a chaotic battle to deliberate over his wording — but Shiro never snaps at him to stop and the Paladins and rebels never hesitate or stumble, uncertain over who they should be listening to. Ro doesn’t step on any toes, though his lip has gone bloody from the effort not to. 

When the orbital stations are destroyed, the last few cruisers have been chased off or demolished, and the battleships are in pieces, Coran looks up with a tired, happy smile as Ro comes over to stand at his side. 

“It was nice to have some help up here again,” Coran says, clapping Ro on the shoulder. 

Ro nods and offers a small, grateful smile back.

For the next few hours, the Paladins are busy talking with the leaders down on Stratyes, but eventually the team meets back on the bridge, crowding around Allura’s station as she wormholes them out of the system, waiting to debrief. The others are grinning brightly, still riding the high of victory, and more than one of them throw Ro a quick thanks for some tip he gave them during the battle. 

It makes Ro’s heart swell, giddy and relieved that he didn’t screw up, but he decides the whole internal struggle was truly, unconditionally, and  _ solely  _ worth it just for the quiet, “nice work,” Shiro gives him before turning to face the team. 

Shiro walks them through the battle quickly, but thoroughly, checking in with everyone to make sure they and their Lions are okay, and making sure there’s no intel they picked up that needs to be shared. Ro answers Shiro’s few questions for him and listens to everyone attentively, refusing to let his excitement get in the way of doing his job well. Today’s, and whatever other missions Shiro lets him in on in the future, are all probably on a provisional — if not entirely temporary — basis, so he needs to do this right. 

Maybe, if they ever discover the full truth of his origins and threat level, he can be back on the team again and do something truly useful for the universe. 

It’s a lofty, unrealistic hope, but he can’t help feeling it.

Once everyone has been dismissed, Shiro rolls his shoulders and groans. “I really need to see about getting some padding in Black’s chair. It’s too stiff.” 

Ro’s lip curls and he shakes his head. “I’m sure she’d  _ love _ that.” 

“Well  _ she’s _ not the one sitting in it,” Shiro points out, chuckling. “Never know unless I try, I’m just not up for another battle right now. I  _ could  _ go for a movie, though. You wanna join me?” 

Ro pauses, surprised. He’d kind of figured the last time was a one-time thing, but it’s not like he doesn’t  _ want _ to. So he says, “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“Great,” Shiro grins. “I gotta shower first, but you wanna come down in a half-hour or so?” 

Ro nods, and Shiro heads out with a quick wave, leaving Ro with thirty minutes of time to kill. 

He uses it to go down to the kitchen and chat with Hunk while he’s doing his usual post-mission baking. Hunk’s cheerful chatter is a nice distraction from the mild panic lurking at the back of Ro’s head, reminding him that he’s going to spend another evening in Shiro’s private space, that Shiro is  _ inviting Ro _ into his private space and Ro has no idea what to make of that, how to feel about it other than flustered. 

Eventually, after approximately thirty minutes have passed since Shiro left the bridge, Ro says goodbye to Hunk and makes his way to Shiro’s room and knocks on the door. 

“It’s open,” Shiro calls. He’s setting up the projector on his datapad like he did last time, hair damp and his fringe slicked back along the top of his head. He looks good — relaxed — skin almost glowing from the residual heat of the shower.

“Hey,” Ro says, going to sit tentatively on the edge of the bed. 

Shiro glances up and smiles. “Hey. There’s some extra pillows in the closet. You should toss them against the wall so there’s something to rest against like last time.” 

Ro nods and moves to do just that as Shiro works on pulling up another one of the movies from the folder Pidge gave them. “Any preferences this time?”

“No,” Ro says. “Surprise me.”

At Shiro’s quiet laugh, Ro buries a smile into one of the spare pillows he’s carrying. It’s quick work to get them set up, and by the time it’s ready so is the movie Shiro chose. They both climb onto the bed and lean back, Ro’s hands deliberately lax in his lap and Shiro with his arms folded loosely over his chest. Even with the movie playing Ro can’t help but pay more attention to the man beside him. Shiro looks calm, more than ready to chill out after a tiring mission, and Ro lets the lack of tension seep over to him like osmosis, slowly relaxing until his own muscles are loose and he can finally devote some of his attention to the film playing on the wall. 

It’s nice. Quiet. 

There were more nerves the last time they’d done this, Ro feeling awkward and unsure, uncomfortable in Shiro’s space. It’s undeniably better this time, now that he’s already done it once before. He’s far less anxious, less certain that something will go wrong and ruin it, especially after Shiro let him back on the bridge and let him participate in a mission again, after Shiro invited Ro back into his room like it was no big deal. So it’s easy to relax, to let himself believe Shiro actually wants him around. 

Shiro’s still probably keeping half an eye out for trouble, because that’s only the  _ smart  _ thing to do, but… maybe he’s actually starting to  _ like _ Ro.

All of his hopes have been terrifying lately, but it’s getting easier and easier to let himself feel it. 

An hour into the movie, Shiro’s chin hits his chest and his breathing goes soft and deep, and Ro stares over at him, baffled. It’s one thing to let Ro into his space, but apparently Shiro feels safe enough around Ro to  _ fall asleep. _

That’s— That’s far beyond what Ro had dared hope for, it’s even  _ more  _ reason to ignore the lingering, frantic voice in the back of his head crying out to not let his guard down, to not let himself think he’s being welcomed, accepted, told it’s okay to stay. Ro has had to cling to that warning by the tips of his fingers rather than slip into blissful naivety, balancing on the edge of trusting without falling into the danger of trusting  _ too _ much. He can’t let himself forget that he’s still an unknown quantity, that the danger his existence poses still hasn’t been defined, and until they know the facts, Ro can’t settle in. 

But… would any of them actually make him leave, now? Things have been so much better lately, calmer and more relaxed, and the only one who’s still  _ visibly _ wary of Ro is Allura, but that’s less surprising than how comfortable the rest of the team seems to be with him. And— he really is starting to  _ believe _ it, to believe that they’re okay with him being on the ship. If they’re still cautious underneath, attentive while they still don’t have answers, that’s fine, Ro wants them to be, but… 

Maybe they won’t actually kick him off the ship anymore, at least not without a good reason. 

Ro can’t stop himself from watching Shiro sleep, tracking the twitches in his muscles and the flicker of his eyes beneath his lids, memorizing everything. He wants to remember this, remember this evening when he felt… accepted, trusted. Maybe even wanted. No matter what happens, he wants to be able to hold on to this memory, one of the few moments of happiness he’s felt after the awful discovery of who he  _ isn’t _ . 

Across from them, the movie plays on, but Ro’s busy watching the way the lights flicker over Shiro’s lax features, so familiar and yet so foreign. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but eventually Ro can’t keep his own eyes open anymore, soothed by Shiro’s quiet breathing and the dull background noise of the film, and between one heavy blink and the next everything goes comfortably, soothingly warm and dark and quiet. 

~~~

A sudden rush of movement and a wash of cold air as the blankets are flung aside pull him from sleep. Ro throws himself up onto his knees, arm lighting up in the dark, and all drowsiness deserts him instantly as he flicks his gaze assessingly over the room. 

But there’s no threat.

There’s only Shiro cowering against the opposite wall, crouched low and tight with tension. His own hand is lit up in Galra purple and his eyes are wide and frightened and manically alert in the dim, violet glow. 

“Shiro?” Ro says, shutting off the defenses in his arm. He moves slowly, climbing down from the bed so his feet are firmly on the floor and his palms are held out in surrender. “You’re safe, Shiro. You’re in your room on the castle. The rest of the Paladins are right down the hall, and they’re safe too. We watched a movie together earlier, do you remember?” 

Shiro’s heavy panting hitches and something — recognition, maybe — flickers in his eyes. He pulls in a slow, deliberate breath, and lets it out again, the glow of his arm fading with it and dropping them back into near darkness — except for the dull blue glow of the lights along the edge of the bed and over the door. “Shit,” Shiro says, slumping back against the wall and sinking to the floor, elbows on his knees and head hanging. “...Sorry.” 

Ro eases down onto the bed, letting Shiro have his space while he gets his breath back. His first impulse is to ask if Shiro’s alright, but he knows both what Shiro will say and what the  _ real  _ answer is. “You wanna talk about it?” he settles on.

Shiro takes another deep breath, shoulders sagging and shakes his head. “Not— not right now.” 

Ro nods even though Shiro isn’t looking at him, and snarls his hands in the mussed blankets. “Do you need some space? Contact? The training deck?” 

Shiro’s quiet for a long moment, thinking, and when he lifts his head his eyes search Ro’s face with caution, hesitation. “I want to sleep.”

“Okay,” Ro says, heart twisting as he forces his hands to release the blankets, getting up off the bed. He knows, intimately, how vulnerable Shiro must be feeling right now; the least Ro can do is give him privacy. “That’s fine, I’ll just head back to my own room.”

But Shiro’s voice stops him before he even finishes rising from the mattress. “Can... can you stay?” 

Ro sucks in a breath, surprised, but nods slowly before he can second guess any of this, not when he needs to be focusing on what Shiro needs. He resettles, pushing back until he’s fully on the bed and sliding under the covers, holding up the edge of the blanket and leaving plenty of space for another body. 

It takes Shiro another minute to slow his breathing, but then he pushes up from the floor, climbing into the bed next to Ro. “Can I—?” he starts and stops without finishing. 

“Whatever you need,” Ro murmurs, more than willing to do anything if it’ll make Shiro feel better. After the way Shiro’s been accommodating  _ him  _ the last few weeks — letting Ro into his space and letting Ro use up his time and letting Ro back onto the bridge, despite the danger — it’s the least Ro can do in return. 

Shiro shuffles closer, tentatively wrapping an arm around Ro, and when Ro doesn’t resist — mostly because he’s gone stiff with yet more surprise — Shiro yanks them together tightly and relaxes into the contact. It takes a long time for his breathing to fall into the deeper, steadier rhythm of slumber — almost as long as it takes for Ro to let his own muscles go slack and his heart to stop pounding, letting out a breath it feels like he’s been holding since he woke up — but Ro doesn’t let himself fall asleep until Shiro does, just in case he needs something. 

~~~ 

A couple days later Shiro invites him over for a movie again, and then a third time, and after that Ro stops keeping track because it just keeps happening. More than once, Ro falls asleep in Shiro’s room before whatever film they’ve put on has ended, only to wake up several hours later sweaty and heaving for breath, or to Shiro panting and terrified. Each time, they end up laying side by side, the quiet, simple comfort more helpful in chasing away the darkness than Ro could have imagined. He always slips out before dawn to go make breakfast and Shiro never says anything about it.

Sometimes they don’t even get around to watching a movie, too caught up in talking about the team and missions and plans for training. And sometimes they fill the quiet hours of the night talking about the dreams that wake them up, the horrid things that haunt them both — though they always dance tentatively around the  _ reason _ behind all those shared fears and nightmares. It makes Ro’s chest go tight every time, how careful Shiro is about not mentioning it, honoring Ro’s request to let it be. 

It’s not every night that they’re together, but it’s enough. Enough to start catching up on sleep again and for Ro to start believing that Shiro might truly  _ care _ about him. 

It’s so monumental, Ro can hardly stand to dwell on it, so he doesn’t.

Thankfully, there’s plenty going on to occupy his time. Ro continues to help out on the bridge during missions, rearranging his other self-appointed duties around them, and the haggard circles under Coran’s eyes start to fade. Hell, everyone — especially Allura — seems a little calmer every time they suit up. It’s probably reassuring to know that there are twice as many experienced officers on the castleship providing backup,  _ and _ someone monitoring the battlefield with careful, attentive eyes again. 

Still, it makes for some long, exhausting days, since he’s still making certain there’s always food available — even if it’s wrapped up in the fridge for reheating, rather than freshly made like it was before — and has to sort through reports and work on castle maintenance at other times of the day and night as necessary, the missions coming first, as always. But with his and Shiro’s new night-time ritual making it possible for him to actually fall back asleep after a nightmare, Ro has the energy for long hours, and he’s somehow  _ more _ productive than before, even with less time for each task since there's more  _ of _ them now.

Plus, the paperwork is much easier with Shiro helping out — and far more enjoyable — and there's almost always someone tagging along to help during his cleaning and maintenance excursions all over the castle.

If there weren’t, it probably would have taken almost a week to get the pool cleaned, but with five of them there it’s only a few hours before the whole place is sparkling and smelling oddly similar to a patch of marigolds. Apparently Altean pool chemicals are laced with something remarkably similar to Earth terpenoids. According to Pidge anyway. Ro isn’t bothering to question why she’s familiar with the chemical make-up of a class of organic compounds that have nothing to do with space flight; she’s always been a fountain of strange knowledge. 

Besides, he’s probably better off not knowing. 

What he  _ would _ like to know is how they’re actually supposed to get  _ in _ the pool. Coran had given them directions to the closet of cleaning supplies, complete with scrub brushes and mops attached to monstrously long poles to reach all the way to the floor — ceiling? — of the pool, but he’d failed to mention if there’s even a way to get up there to actually swim in it. 

“Maybe it’s something only Alteans can do?” Hunk asks, leaning against one of the giant mops and staring up at the water. “Or, like, you have to offer up a tiny blood sacrifice or something and then you’re just magically transported into the water?” 

“That’s stupid,” Pidge quips. “They’re not evil sorcerers. You probably just have to… jump.” 

“Well I don’t know about you guys, but I can’t jump twenty feet straight up in the air,” Lance says, folding his arms and sighing. “I suppose it’s possible Coran might not have told us how simply because he knows we  _ can’t _ . Unless he just  _ thinks _ we can’t because we’re the weak, pathetic humans.” 

“I don’t think he really means any of that Altean superiority stuff he goes on about,” Shiro says, a wry tilt to his mouth before it morphs into a frown. “Probably.” 

Ro chuckles. “We could just  _ ask _ him. He might not even realize we don’t know.” 

“Okay, sure,” Lance cedes, “but are you prepared to be humiliated when he laughs in all of our faces over our collective ignorance?” 

Ro throws him an amused look. “Dramatic much?” 

“It’s not dramatic, it’s  _ accurate _ ,” Pidge says, tipping her head up toward the ceiling and glaring like she can intimidate the answers to their questions out of it. “You know how Coran is, we’ll never get any answers out of him if he’s too busy laughing at us every time we bring it up.” 

“Oh come on, he’s not  _ that  _ bad,” Shiro says, collecting the last of the bottles of chemicals and cleaners and stuffing them back where they came from. 

“Yes, yes he is,” Hunk insists. “A few days ago I tried to tell him that the cooling system on the refrigerator in the kitchen is actually kind of inefficient — I mean, it’s using  hydrochlorofluorocarbons when _obviously_ non-haloalkanes are the way to go — and he laughed so hard he had to leave the room. He’s _still_ bursting into giggles every time he sees me and it’s been like three days.” 

Ro catches Shiro glancing over at him in the middle of Hunk’s story — mouth pursed like he’s holding back a laugh — and quirks a brow in question. 

Shiro mouths  _ He’s really cute, but I have no idea what he’s saying  _ and Ro coughs to cover up the snort of laughter that tries to escape. Shiro’s lip curls in a subtle grin, even as he turns back to Hunk and claps him on the shoulder. “He’ll get over it. Besides, you and Slav have been holding that hover tech system in the palace on Rescalka over his head for months, now.” 

“That’s because he’s  _ wrong _ ,” Hunk says, scowling. 

“I’ll side with you until the end of time, buddy,” Lance says, sidling over to drape himself over Hunk’s back. “But none of this is helping us with our little problem.” 

Right. The pool. 

Ro pushes himself up off the floor from his spot against the wall and wanders a little closer, circling around the nearest pillar jutting up from the floor and melding with the outer edge of the pool wall high above them. “You know, I figured there would at least be a ladder or something for little kids,” he says, reaching out and running his hand along the plasteel. “Maybe there’s a control panel or something on these to—” 

He shouts in surprise as the world flips and  _ shifts _ and suddenly Ro’s feet are on the ceiling, inches away from the edge of the water. 

But... it’s all right-side up to him. Now everyone else looks like they’re hanging upside-down from the ceiling. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, collapsing down onto his ass and trying to calm the sudden surge of fight-or-flight response that’s making his heart pound rapidly in his chest. 

“Oh my gosh, you figured it out!” Pidge crows. “How’d you do that? It happened too fast for me to see.” 

Ro shakes his head. “I have no idea.” 

“You okay?” Shiro asks, wandering over until he’s almost directly beneath — above? — Ro, and Ro has to tip his head almost straight up to look at his face. 

It makes him a little dizzy, so he drops his head back down and waves a hand around. “Fine, I’m fine. Just caught me off guard. Anybody else see how that happened?” 

“You had your hand on the light panel,” Lance says, head tipped to the side like a curious puppy. “But that’s all I saw before you were just suddenly up there. Like Pidge said, it happened really fast.” 

Ro shrugs. “Okay, so who’s next?” he asks, glancing up — down? — at them with a grin. 

“I’ll do it!” Pidge shouts, thrusting her hand up in the air.

Shiro shakes his head. “You should try to get back to us before anyone else tries, Ro. We need to be sure it works both ways so we don’t all end up stuck.” 

“Good point,” Ro agrees, easing himself up from the floor again and pausing to make sure he’s not going to get dizzy from an adrenaline crash. He lays his hand gently against the light panel on the pillar — which, now that he’s paying attention, isn’t actually a covered panel but some strange, indescribable substance his hand starts to sink  _ into _ , just a little, before the world goes topsy-turvy again and he’s back down on the floor with the others. 

“That’s weird as hell,” he says, shaking his head. 

“Can I try  _ now _ , Shiro?” Pidge asks. 

Shiro glances over at her, staring placidly as she practically vibrates in place, before heaving a put-upon sigh. “Alright, fine. Just don’t hurt yourself.” 

“Yes!” Pidge dashes over to the pillar and lays her hand on it, shrieking as she disappears and reappears again at the side of the pool. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing. How does this even  _ work? _ ” 

“Don’t take it apart!” Ro yells, just as she’s cramming her fingertips into a gap between panels. “Pidge, what happens if you break something?” 

She shrugs. “Worst case — I turn off the gravity up here and myself and all the water from the pool fall down  _ there  _ and hopefully the water lands first and cushions my fall? Best case, of course, is I figure out how this works and can bring the tech back to Earth.” 

“Well then, can you wait until  _ I’m _ not here?” Hunk asks. “Because I don’t swim very well and I have a very delicate, water-phobic piece of machinery I’ve been tinkering with in my pocket that I really don’t want to short out when you drop five thousand gallons of water on me.” 

“Sure, worry about your tech and not the integrity of our skulls,” Lance quips. “That much water falling all at once would probably knock us to the floor and smash our brains out.” 

Shiro chuckles. “I doubt it. The pool’s not  _ that  _ big. But yeah, I’d rather you do that on your own time, Pidge.” He frowns. “With supervision.” 

She sighs, pulling her hands away from the pillar. “Fine. So since we figured out how to get up here, are we gonna swim, or what?” 

“Yes, yes we are,” Lance says, nodding emphatically, “and I don’t want to hear any objections, you got that? We need to start hanging out more, having fun. All work and no play makes  _ everyone _ dull and I won’t stand for it anymore.” 

“What about Allura and Coran?” Hunk asks. 

Lance flaps a hand around and literally  _ climbs  _ up onto Hunk’s back, legs clinging tightly. “They’re a work-in-progress, I’ll worry about them another day. But right  _ now _ we have at least three hours until dinner and I don’t intend to waste them. Now, onward, mighty steed! To the swim trunks!” 

Hunk grins, wrapping a hand around each of Lance’s thighs to hold him in place. “Back in a jiff, guys,” he says, and then turns and strides out of the room, Lance chattering excitedly the whole way. 

Pidge drops back down to the floor and cups her chin in hand. “You think Allura could find something in my size? I don’t really want to swim in shorts and a t-shirt.” 

Ro shrugs. “Only one way to find out.” 

“Kay, but it could take a while, so don’t start without me,” she says, heading off toward the door. “Any time I bring up the fact that I'm a girl, Allura gets weirdly friendly all of a sudden and it takes forever to get her to let me leave again.” 

Shiro chuckles and Ro grins, shaking his head. 

“Guess we should go grab something appropriate for swimming too,” he says, contemplatively. 

Shiro hums, shifting his weight onto one leg. “What are the chances that Coran can get me a full-body wetsuit, do you think?” 

Ro snorts and shrugs. “I always figured he’d have something like that or a speedo. Fifty-fifty toss-up, though, in my opinion.” 

Shiro wrinkles his nose, cringing, and shoves Ro’s shoulder. “Thanks for  _ that _ mental image.” 

“Definitely worse than you in a pair of swim trunks,” Ro says, sliding his gaze sideways and catching Shiro’s eyes. “They all know what to expect.” 

Shiro sucks in a surprised breath and turns away, the line of his shoulders rigid. “So you—” 

“No,” Ro cuts in, but quietly, gently. “There hasn’t really been a situation to warrant taking my clothes off around them. But they’re not stupid. And nothing you have is any worse than the mess on Lance’s back.” 

“It’s not the same,” Shiro says, shaking his head. “And it’s not that easy.” 

“Then do it as an act of solidarity,” Ro says, shifting close enough to press their arms together — it’s gotten easier to do stuff like this after the last couple of weeks spent hanging out in fairly intimate settings— letting the contact soothe his own rising nerves. “Cause I’m talking to myself here, too, you know.” 

Shiro finally looks back at him then, wary and searching, and then his eyes go soft. “Oh.” 

Ro wrangles up a wry smile and shrugs. “Just think about it. See you in a few?” 

Shiro nods kind of mechanically, but it’s enough of an answer, so Ro nudges him once in the arm and heads off for his room. He knows there’s a pair of shorts somewhere in his drawers that should work fine, even if the idea of the water-and-temperature-proof undersuit from his Altean armor sounds more appealing. 

But after what he’d just said to Shiro, he  _ definitely _ can’t go the more modest route.

The shorts are lurking near the back of the drawer that holds several other casual and baggy articles of clothing. He changes into them, pleased to find that the waistband is tight enough they shouldn’t drag too low, even waterlogged. Ro unzips his vest and peels it off, but leaves his shirt on for the walk through the chilly castle. He stares down at his boots, considering for a long moment, before leaving them behind with a shrug and padding barefoot to snag a towel. 

The younger Paladins are already back at the pool when he arrives — Pidge sans glasses and in a wetsuit with thin shoulder straps and pink curlicues, her feet dangling over the side of the narrow section of the pool, and Lance and Hunk in the midst of taking a running leap straight into the water as Ro walks in. It’s decidedly disorienting to watch them jump off the ceiling, descend upside-down a few feet toward the floor, and then arch back  _ upward _ and land with a massive splash. 

Ro walks to the nearest pillar and lays his hand on the glowing blue panel — which they’re really going to have to figure out the name of — and shakes his head after he lands to dispel the mild dizziness from gravity literally being turned on its head. 

“Ro!” Lance shouts, grinning broadly even as he’s climbing up Hunk’s back to sit on his shoulders. “Get in, get in, the water’s perfect!” 

“I’m coming, hold your horses,” Ro says, rolling his eyes, though it’s with a healthy dose of fondness. It’s hard not to catch Lance’s enthusiasm. “Besides, I’d rather ask Pidge’s opinion on the temperature than the team polar bear.” 

Pidge shrugs. “It’s fine, I just figured I’d give those two a chance to calm down before they drown me.” 

“Not much faith in your teammates,” Shiro’s voice quips, and the four of them turn almost as one to see him striding into the room, a towel slung over his forearm. 

He’s wearing a pair of shorts almost identical to the one’s hanging from Ro’s hips, faint lines of gray snaking alongside the stitching instead of the pale purple on Ro’s own. He’s still wearing his shirt, but he somehow looks both broader and smaller without the vest, and his feet are bare. 

Shiro follows them up to the poolside, frowning a bit after his feet hit the floor, before seemingly shaking off the disorientation and waving a dismissive hand at the others. “As you were, cadets,” he says, and smirks when all three of them scoff. 

“You have no power here,” Lance says, propping his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest. “And as the Paladin of water and ice, I command you to get in and enjoy yourself!” 

Shiro’s mouth twists up in amusement. “And what are you going to do if I don’t?” 

Lance’s eyes narrow and he leans forward, peering at Shiro seriously. “ _ Dunk you _ .” 

Shiro’s smile morphs into a shit-eating grin and he wrestles his way out of his shirt, peeling his arms out one after the other before dropping it to the floor. “I’d like to see you  _ try _ ,” he says and then leaps into the air and tackles both Hunk and Lance into the water. 

The ensuing fight is almost entirely one-sided since Hunk immediately backs away and Lance is too busy laughing and flailing around to actually get Shiro  _ off _ of him. The chaos of it almost distracts Ro from the fact that Shiro kind of just rushed right past the whole taking-his-clothes-off-in-front-of-the-others thing. But it’s not all that surprising when he thinks about it — Shiro’s always been the type to leap almost before he’s finished deciding to, so he probably figured it was better to get it over with. Like ripping off a bandaid. 

Ro takes a page out of Shiro’s book and musters up some resolve to do the same, stripping out of his own shirt and climbing down into the pool before he can second guess himself or start worrying much about anyone’s reactions. 

And just like he’d reassured Shiro would happen, none of them say anything. After Lance and Shiro finally chill a little, the three cadets’ eyes trail briefly over some of the worst of their identical scars, but their expressions are relaxed and they don’t say a word about it. 

“We should play ‘Marco Polo,’” Lance says, breaking the half a moment of companionable, relaxed silence and hopping up and down. 

“Oh that’ll be hard to win,” Pidge drawls, gaze sweeping up and down the short length — and even shorter width — of the pool. 

“So? It’ll be fun.” 

“I’m game,” Hunk says, shrugging. 

“Fine with me,” Shiro adds.

Everyone turns to look at him, and Ro flings a finger up to his nose. “Not it.” 

Pidge, Hunk, and Shiro start to follow suit, but Lance doesn’t even bother trying, just thrusts a hand up in the air with a grin. “I’ll go first!” He closes his eyes right where he’s standing and starts counting backward from ten, and Ro moves to get as far away from him as he can while the others do the same. 

Lance finishes counting and shouts, “Marco!” and Ro tries to keep from snickering when he looks around and realizes how right Pidge’s assessment was. There’s no way to get more than about five feet away from anyone’s reach, except by going down the long aisle extending off one side of the pool, which is so narrow there’s no way to escape from there. Lance catches Hunk in about thirty seconds and everyone laughs over how easy it was, but they all agree they might as well have a few more rounds. 

The second lasts a little longer. Lance almost gets caught again but dives down and goes  _ in between  _ Hunk’s legs to keep from getting trapped in the aisle. He pops up again all the way at the opposite wall, far enough away to be safe, and Hunk ends up close enough to Shiro to snatch his forearm when his escape route is blocked by Pidge. 

Shiro stops and closes his eyes, counting. Lance flees down the narrow half of the pool, possibly deciding that he can use the same escape attempt that worked on Hunk if Shiro bothers to chase him that far. Unlikely, when there are three other victims much closer.

Somehow Pidge and Hunk end up capturing the corners farthest away from Shiro, leaving Ro hovering uncertainly in the middle of the pool. If he gets too close to anyone else they’ll just get in each other’s way and make it harder to flee, but there’s no where he can go that won’t leave him within two steps of Shiro’s reach or trapped on all sides. 

Before he can do anything, Shiro calls out, “Marco” and Ro spits out the reply on autopilot. He blanches when Shiro spins straight for him, only managing to dance out of the way of his stretching fingers by a hair’s breadth. 

Shiro calls out again and Ro practically screeches the required “Polo” back as he pushes himself through the water as quick as he can, just trying to stay ahead, and biting back curses. Shiro is  _ fast, _ even in the water, and he’s so close that Ro  _ can’t get away _ . He tries circling around behind him, but Shiro tracks the sound of his movements and spins too, sweeping his hands out. Ro lurches back again and grunts as he hits the wall unexpectedly — he was too distracted to notice where he was — and Shiro’s outstretched hands land firmly on his shoulders, pinning him in place. 

Shiro laughs and opens his eyes, less than a foot away from Ro’s face. “Got you,” he says, grinning. 

Ro’s feeling a bit breathless — for more than one reason — but he grins back. “Better move fast. You’re next.” He closes his eyes and immediately starts counting. 

Shiro mutters a panicked, “Shit,” and his presence in front of Ro disappears. 

Ro bites back a grin and keeps counting. 

Just before he says ten, all sounds of movement in the water ceases and no matter how he strains his ears the only noise is the slight sloshing against the wall as the water settles. 

“Marco,” Ro calls. 

“Polo,” four voices chorus, echoing back over each other and making it hard to pinpoint their original locations. Ro takes a couple steps forward into the center of the pool and calls out again, tilting his head to follow the sounds as the others call back. Hunk is off to his left, probably hovering near the corner, and it sounds like Pidge took Lance’s place down at the far end of the pool, but  _ Shiro _ . Shiro must have put his sneaking skills to the test because he’s  _ behind  _ Ro now, speaking so low it was almost drowned out by Lance’s enthusiastic shout. 

Ro stills and cocks his head, affecting a frown like he’s still having trouble locating everyone, and calls out, “Marco,” again, but even as the sound dies in his throat he lunges backward and twists around, wrapping his arms around Shiro’s chest and knocking them both underwater. 

They’re both laughing when they come up, and Shiro’s fringe is plastered to his face and dripping everywhere. “Damn, I was sure you wouldn’t hear me.”

“Cheater,” Ro says, grinning and shoving at his chest. 

Shiro grunts and snatches Ro’s wrist, pushing his arm away even as Ro tries to get enough leverage to shove him under the water again. “Hey, Lance went under the water, I figured everything but getting out of the pool was fair game,” he says through laughter.

“ _ Excuse _ me?” Lance shrieks. “I’m no cheater! There’s no rule that says you can’t go under water!” 

“Yes there is,” Shiro and Ro say at the same time, pausing their wrestling match as Ro looks over and sees his face is stretched into a conspiratorial grin. 

“Nu uh, I’ve never played that way,” Lance says, shaking his head. 

“I’ve played both ways before,” Hunk shrugs. “My older siblings always said you couldn’t go underwater, but most of my friends said you could. Besides, I figured out my brothers had been secretly swimming under the surface whenever I was ‘it’ all along.” 

“See, it’s perfectly valid,” Lance says, quirking a brow at Shiro and Ro before waving a hand spastically in Pidge’s direction. “Come on, Pidge, back me up.” 

Ro turns to where she’s pulled herself up to perch on the edge of the pool, swishing her feet through the water. Her eyes widen and she rears back, hands held up in surrender. “Don’t look at me, I think I played this a grand total of one time as a kid and I barely remember it. I have no idea what the specific rules were.” 

Lance’s gesturing hand stays frozen for a moment before it falls and he spins back to Ro and Shiro, seeming to muster up some resolve. “So it’s a tie, fine, then we just need a tie breaker. Call Keith!” 

Ro chuckles, tilting his head to look over at Shiro and lifting a brow. “If you tell him, he’ll be traumatized.” 

Shiro grins, eyes flicking briefly in Ro’s direction, but he keeps his attention on Lance. “Keith was homeschooled in the middle of a desert, Lance. He didn’t even  _ see _ a pool until he got to the Garrison.” 

Lance’s mouth falls open. “But... When we… But he can  _ swim _ .” 

“Who do you think taught him how?” Shiro asks, brows raised. 

“Aww,” Pidge says, and Ro looks over to see her smiling softly. “That’s kind of sweet, actually. He’s always said you’re like a brother to him, but I didn’t realize how  _ literal _ it was.” 

“Don’t just skip right over the fact that Keith didn’t ever swim until he  _ joined the Garrison _ ,” Lance wails, the back of one hand pressed dramatically against his forehead. “That poor, deprived, awkward child. No wonder he’s like that.” 

“I don’t think anyone’s life has been affected so dramatically by swimming as yours, Lance,” Hunk says dryly. 

“I think I need to lie down for a while.” Keeping up his theatrics, Lance slumps back against the side of the pool, looking shattered. 

Ro feels his lip twitch upward. “You just got here,” he points out. 

“Yeah, but I don’t think I can enjoy myself right now knowing about all those years of deprivation Keith endured,” Lance sighs. “Maybe I’ll be able to have fun swimming again without being wracked with guilt in a few days.” 

It’s so absurd that Shiro descends into a bout of what can only be described as  _ giggling _ , and Ro refuses to let himself pay attention to it, keeping his gaze on Lance and smiling in amusement. 

“That seems a little dramatic,” he comments, sharing a commiserating look with Hunk and Pidge. 

Pidge snorts. “It’s Lance, what else is new?” 

“Do you want some company while you brood?” Hunk asks, giving Lance a sympathetic expression that Ro knows is actually half-sincere; Hunk thinks Lance’s dramatics are ridiculous, too, he just has a big enough heart to still genuinely care about the grain of truthful feelings beneath the show Lance puts on. 

Lance looks over with hopeful eyes and nods. “Yes please.” 

“Video games or baking?” Hunk asks. 

“Baking!” Lance hauls himself out of the pool and practically runs over to his belongings, flinging his robe on and dancing impatiently from one foot to the other while he waits for Hunk to catch up. 

“Okay, well if the fun enforcer is leaving, I’m out too,” Pidge says, standing up and throwing a two fingered salute. “You can find me when it’s time for the next group activity, but until then I’m going to go do something productive.” 

Shiro’s giggles have stopped enough for him to call out, “Don’t eat right away! You’ll get cramps!”

“That’s  _ before _ swimming,” Lance protests, sounding affronted. The three of them take turns leaving the pool for the ground below, and Ro can hear Lance muttering, “Obviously, Shiro was never a lifeguard.”

“You wish he  _ was  _ a lifeguard,” Pidge mocks. “Be honest with yourself, was it really Keith that you couldn’t handle, or was it watching two big, muscular men wres—”

“LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU PIDGE,” is the last thing Ro hears before the trio are out the door, which closes smartly behind them. For a moment, the room seems to ring with not only the Paladins’ voices, but the  _ implication _ of their words, and an awkward tension builds in the silence. 

Ro’s lingering nerves, and the buoyant joy of playing around in a pool like a kid, get the best of him and  _ he  _ starts giggling. For some reason, he’s reminded of his and Shiro’s conversation earlier, just before leaving to get their swim trunks. His brain throws up an image of  _ Coran _ of all people as a lifeguard, complete with a red speedo, and the giggles very quickly turn into out right laughter.

When Ro calms down, he turns to look back at Shiro who’s already watching Ro, a considering look on his face. 

“You’ve been laughing more,” Shiro says, the corner of his mouth curling up in a tiny smile. “It looks good on you.” And then he fucking  _ winks _ . 

“That’s a little narcissistic,” Ro blurts, mind blank and face unbearably hot. There’s no way Shiro meant that as anything other than a joke, and Ro’s just not used to compliments, even sarcastic ones; that’s all this is. 

Shiro laughs, boosting himself up to sit on the edge of the pool. “I’m just saying, Pidge said you hadn’t even been smiling, you remember? And she was right, not that I was paying attention when I first came back. But you look like you’re doing better.” 

Even though it’s been days,  _ weeks  _ without any sign of ulterior motive in Shiro’s actions or words,  _ and _ despite the fact that Ro decided he wouldn’t do it anymore, he can’t help the instinctive reaction to search Shiro’s expression for one. 

He stops after barely a moment, reminding himself that he chose to trust Shiro and take him at face value, and his last statement sounds like nothing more than concern for Ro’s wellbeing. Shiro’s calmed Ro down from nightmares and checked up on his sparring injuries and dragged him to dinner to make sure he eats that day countless times, but it’s still a little strange to be on the receiving end of Shiro’s protectiveness. Everything Shiro’s said or done in relation to Ro since their bonding moment after Ro attacked him on the training deck has seemed genuine, sincere, and there doesn’t seem to be a reason to question it anymore. 

So Ro leans against the side of the pool and rests his folded arms on the edge a few inches from Shiro’s hip, taking a moment to actually consider Shiro’s statement. “I… Yeah, I guess I am.” He glances up to find Shiro looking down at him with a small, pleased smile. 

“It’s my charming company,” he quips, lip quirking into a smirk. 

Ro scoffs and digs an elbow into Shiro’s thigh. “That was  _ definitely _ narcissistic,” he says, though within the safety of his own mind he can’t help thinking Shiro’s completely correct. 

“Oh come on, Ro,” Shiro teases, eyes sparkling. “You  _ love _ having me around.” 

Ro eases back from the wall and splashes a wave of water up at Shiro’s chest, fighting back a smile. “I have the right to remain silent.” 

Shiro startles at the splash, but slides back into the pool with a sly grin. The sound of the water moving around their bodies seems louder than it did before, as if calling attention to the fact that it’s just the two of them here. “That kinda sounds like you agree with me and just don’t want to admit it.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ro says, tracking Shiro’s movements apprehensively, feeling like nothing so much as unsuspecting prey. 

Shiro stalks closer, looming tall and broad and strong in a way that shouldn’t even be possible when they’re the  _ same fucking size _ . “Just tell me I’m your favorite and we won’t have to do this the hard way.” 

Ro looks him up and down, stomach surging with the realization that Shiro’s  _ flirting _ with him, which should be ridiculous and impossible. Except that he  _ knows _ how Shiro flirts and this is exactly the kind of thing he would do. 

He can’t actually  _ mean _ it though. It’s not possible, it can’t possibly be, but Ro’s heart still starts pounding, nerves tight with anticipation, and before he can stop himself he looks Shiro straight in the eye with a defiant tilt to his head and says, “I’ll never tell.” 

That’s all Shiro needs for his grin to go sharp and delighted, and in the next second he lunges, reaching out for Ro as Ro dances out of reach, a mimicry of the silly kids’ game earlier, but this time Shiro’s eyes are wide open, bright and burning with something Ro doesn’t want to name, won’t let himself think about, not when it could ruin this moment of breathless laughter and  _ fun. _

Eventually, Shiro catches him and tackles him under the water, like Ro had done to him, and they come up laughing and sputtering just like before. 

They’ve been in the pool for a while now, the two of them, and Ro’s fingertips feel shriveled and there’s a gentle lassitude to his muscles. For a moment he leans into Shiro, catching his breath, and Shiro holds onto him, arm warm and slick around his waist. And then the moment lengthens, goes on too long, and Ro backs away, trying to slide out of Shiro’s grip as casually as he can. He blinks water out of his eyes and holds his hands up in surrender. 

“Okay, okay, I give,” Ro huffs, struggling to act normal and unaffected. “You win. You’re my  _ favorite _ .”

Shiro lifts a brow at the obvious sarcasm, but smiles with satisfaction and shoulder checks him on his way out of the pool. He vaults up onto the ground, water dripping everywhere and cascading down his muscled back in glistening rivulets — Ro can’t help but track one droplet that seems keen on following along the dip of Shiro’s spine — at least until Shiro pulls his shirt back on, soaking through the fabric instantly. 

And then he turns back around to face Ro, his shirt  _ clinging _ to his chest. “You wanna go help Coran with that jammed goo dispenser?” Shiro asks, head tilted to the side. 

Ro swallows, mouth dry, and shifts his gaze up and away from where he was  _ definitely not _ staring at Shiro’s body; not that looking at his face is much better, not when he keeps smiling like  _ that _ . “Sure, why not?” Ro shrugs, vehemently swearing to himself that his cheeks are warm because he’s still getting his breath back from being chased around the pool and  _ not  _ because of anything to do with Shiro. 

“Great,” Shiro grins. 

And right then and there Ro promises to bury what he’s feeling and never think of it again. 

There’s no way Shiro was flirting with him. No way it was anything more than just two friends goofing off. Because… well, Ro can safely say they  _ are _ friends now, can’t he? And being attracted to him is weird for a number of reasons, but Ro has memories of finding friends attractive before — hell, he still thinks Lance is stupidly attractive and he’s not let that get in the way of their friendship. There’s no reason it has to ruin anything.

He won’t let it. After all, it’s just hormones and he can ignore those. And he  _ will _ , because giving into them is not worth risking the friendship he has with Shiro. 

It’s too important to him. 


	6. Chapter 6

“Okay, I think that’s it,” Hunk says, locking the panel back into place and dusting off his hands. He’s been working on updating  _ something _ with his Lion — it’s not worth asking about, not when none of the genuises onboard have any idea how to dumb things down for the rest of them — and Ro had agreed to tag along as a tool-finding assistant and sounding board for Hunk’s ideas. 

“Alright,” Ro says, pushing up from the floor. “Do you want me to help pack up?” 

“Nah,” Hunk waves him off. “I’ll be back in here tomorrow morning, so I’m just gonna leave it all out. Go on ahead, I’ll catch up after I do a quick system check. Gotta make sure Yellow’s able to fly in case of an emergency.” 

Ro nods and grabs a discarded rag to wipe grease off his hands. “Sounds good.” He throws Hunk a wave on his way out of the Yellow Lion’s hangar, heading leisurely up toward the lounge. Lance said earlier that everyone who’s available is required to meet there for a game night now that Pidge has managed to rig up a more portable adaptor for the Game Flux.

He’s still working on wiping off the grease and he’s distracted enough that he almost smacks into someone coming up from the shuttle hangar, reaching out to stabilize the data pad they’ve almost fumbled out of their hands. 

“My apologies, Shir—” Lotor starts, before his eyes narrow and sweep up and down Ro’s frame. “You’re… not Shiro. I just saw him this morning and his hair is longer in the front; I know humans cannot change their features so quickly, so who are you?” 

Ro tenses, staring back at Lotor and wracking his brain for something to say. They haven’t talked about this, haven’t discussed what to tell anyone else about him, about Shiro, and Lotor’s opinion on the matter is probably the most critical of anyone’s outside the team. “I—“ 

Just then, Hunk rounds the corner and looks back and forth between them, his own eyes widening in comprehension. “Uhhh. There’s a story here,” he says, looking at Lotor who quirks one imperious brow. “It’s uhh… crap. I am  _ not _ the best person to explain all this. We should go find the others. Where’s Allura?” 

“I just left her in the shuttle bay,” Lotor says, rotating enough to glance back the way he came. “She is finishing imbuing Sincline with as much Altean energy as she is capable of today.”

“Okay. Okay,” Hunk says, nodding several times. “You should go get her and have her come up to the lounge. We’re all supposed to be up there anyway and I think this is a team conversation.” 

Maybe Ro should say something as well, but for the life of him he can’t figure out what. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to; Lotor dips his head in acknowledgement and after one last considering glance at Ro, he turns around to stride back toward the hangar, the heels of his boots thumping steadily against the floor. 

“Lotor is getting Allura, and Lance and Pidge are probably already up there setting everything up,” Hunk mutters, ticking everyone off on his fingers. “Any idea where Coran or Shiro might be?” 

“Coran said something about inhibitor cores and needing tiny mice hands this morning,” Ro says, trying to push back the tension rising up his spine. “I haven’t got a clue what he meant, though.” 

Hunk’s eyes brighten in recognition. “Oh, I know where he is. You wanna hunt Shiro down?” 

“Sure. Meet you there?” 

Hunk nods and they part ways as Hunk goes deeper into the ship’s bowels and Ro heads up toward the bridge. He’s pretty sure Shiro will be slumped back in the Black Paladin chair with his feet up on the console — which he’ll never admit he does to the other Paladins — reading the books and reports on Galra battle tactics that Kolivan sends over whenever he remembers to compile a collection. 

And Ro’s not wrong. He gets a fleeting glimpse of Shiro lounging comfortably before the sound of the door opening reaches him and Shiro jolts upright in his seat, spinning around to see who’s come in. 

“Sorry, just me,” Ro says, holding his hands up apologetically. 

“Oh, hey.” Shiro relaxes and rests his arm on the back of his seat. “What’s up?” 

Ro rubs a palm over the back of his neck and sighs. “Lotor, uh— ran into me in the hallway. And you and I look different, so…” 

“Ah. Crap.” 

“Yeah,” Ro says, lifting his shoulders up in a too-late-now-what-can-you-do? manner. “Hunk’s gathering everyone up to meet in the lounge to explain it to him.”

Shiro nods, eyes sweeping critically over him, and stands up. "How are you handling this?"

"What?" Ro asks. "I'm... fine. Why wouldn't I be?" And he thinks that he is. He's tense, sure, but that's understandable. He's handling this better than he thought he would, so he doesn't see why Shiro is asking—

"Your hands are shaking."

Ro glances down and sees that Shiro's right, his hands have a slight tremor. He slowly curls the fingers on his human hand into a fist. "I'm fine," he repeats.

"Look, I know how much you don't want to talk about—"

"I'm  _ fine _ ," Ro insists.

"...Alright," Shiro concedes, but his mouth is tight, like he doesn't quite agree, but is choosing not to push it. He tucks his datapad under his arm and walks close enough to brush their shoulders together. "It'll be alright. Are you going to come, though?"

Ro starts, looking up with wide eyes as Shiro quirks a brow in genuine curiosity. “I… I didn’t think I had a choice,” Ro says.

Shiro shrugs. “Unless Lotor has a lie-detector he wants to use, I don’t think it’ll make any difference whether or not you’re there; the story’s the same either way and there will be plenty of us there to explain.” 

Plenty of them there to explain while the shameful — and  _ ashamed _ — secret hides away out of sight. And it’s tempting, very tempting to let the others vouch for him or not, as they please, and not have to hear what they say or see Lotor’s judgement in real time. But that’s also cowardly and irresponsible and — if nothing else — will only serve to make him look guilty. 

And he  _ feels  _ guilty, but not for the kinds of things that the Galran Emperor will assume if Ro doesn’t face this and own up. It’s his responsibility to explain himself, his own actions and presence and identity. As much of it as he knows, anyway. 

So Ro sucks in a breath, bracing himself, and squares his shoulders. “No, I should be there. Thank you, though.” 

Shiro nods, eyeing him for a moment, and then gestures toward the door. “Lead the way, then.” 

Coran and Hunk are just walking up from the opposite direction when they get to the lounge, and when they turn into the room Ro sees that everyone else is already there. He stays back and lets them all find places around the U-shaped pit, settling into the stiff couches and exchanging tense nods. Ro’s still debating whether he should sit somewhere too and avoid feeling like he’s standing before a court, or keep his distance, when Lance pats the empty space between him and Shiro and smiles encouragingly. 

“Come on, Ro, five bucks says you’ve been on your feet all day.” 

Ro looks at Shiro, who shrugs, glancing briefly over at Lance. “He’ll just keep bugging you until you listen,” Shiro says, lip quirking. 

Lance nods emphatically and pats the seat a few more times, sweeping his arm across the space in invitation. 

Of course he would. Ro huffs, but moves forward to sink down onto the couch, shoulders brushing against the ones pressed in close on either side of him, warm and solid. And then he sucks in another steadying breath and looks over at Lotor. “I guess I should start.” 

Lotor nods, and Ro begins. 

“During the battle with Zarkon, when the team used the teladuv to transport the flagship away from the fleet, Shiro disappeared in their final attack on Zarkon’s battle armor. That was the last thing I remembered before waking up on a Galra ship what was apparently several months — about two phoebs — later. I managed to escape, but my pod was hit and I had to crash land on the planet the ship was orbiting. I stumbled across a rebel base and they let me take their ship back up into space so I could stow away when the fleet left to go assist against Voltron in the Thaldycon system. I stole a fighter and chased after Voltron when they left the fight.” 

Lotor’s eyes brighten in recognition and he looks around at the rest of the team. “I was testing you that day,” he says slowly, like he’s thinking out loud. “The Black Lion had not been seen in months and when we went to investigate you fought like a group of strangers and amateurs thrown together, not the cohesive team that defeated my father.” 

Lance gives a wry grin. “Keith did alright, but still. Three of us were getting used to new Lions and all of us were having to learn the new dynamic.” 

Lotor looks over at Allura, intrigued. “That was you that day, wasn’t it? In the Blue Lion.” 

Allura nods and Lotor grins. 

“You were clumsy at first, so I underestimated you. But you bested me. I was impressed.” 

Allura flushes, turning away from him and straightening in her seat. “He did not catch up to us in time. It was another seven of your Earth days before Black picked up Ro’s presence, yes?” 

Ro nods, swallowing. “Yes. Seven days.” 

Lotor turns back to him, brow furrowed. “You were on a Galra fighter? They are operated by sentries, they carry no rations.” 

Ro closes his eyes, both to block out the expressions and exclamations of surprise from the other humans, and to push aside the memories of terror and dread that had quickly given way to confusion as he continued to function long past when he should have been able to. He’d sunk back into the overwhelming, crippling fear soon enough, and then — eventually — it had turned to resignation when his death  _ finally _ seemed to loom close. 

“I know,” he says when he opens his eyes a long moment later. “I shouldn’t have survived. I tried to tell myself I was just starving and thirsty and tracking the time incorrectly, and I didn’t think about it anymore after I got back. But I triple checked the logs after Black—” Ro’s voice cracks and he stops, clearing his throat before continuing. “It was what convinced me to talk to Lance. I couldn’t keep telling myself that I was who I thought I was anymore.” 

Lotor leans back in his chair and drums a single finger against the arm rest, gaze thoughtful where it shifts back-and-forth between Ro and Shiro. “The only person capable of this would be my father’s witch,” he says. “She has already created dozens of machines within which she has crammed the consciousness of a living being. It is no stretch of the imagination for her to create a  _ copy _ of someone’s mind before doing the same with it in a copied  _ body _ as well.” 

Shiro sucks in a breath, fists clenching on his knee. “That Robeast on Arus,” he says. “It was  _ just like  _ the gladiator I fought in the arena.” 

Lance pales, a distressed noise sounding in the back of his throat. “So you’re saying every one of those robeasts were—” 

“Yes,” Lotor nods, voice dark and eyes distant. “They are abominations.” 

That word —  _ abomination _ — echoes in Ro’s ears, and around the room the echo seems to sink in, the realization of what Lotor is saying. Hunk claps a hand over his mouth and hunches over his knees, breathing deeply, and Pidge starts to turn the same shade of green as her shirt, eyes squeezed shut. 

Ro swallows, throat thick, and stares through the floor. Should he be reassured by the horror in the Paladins’ reactions? Or terrified of the eventual conclusion they’ll reach? There’s only been one way to deal with Robeasts, after all.

“Ro,” Lotor calls, and Ro takes a second to brace himself before lifting his gaze, blinking in surprise when Lotor’s expression is soft with sympathy and compassion. “You bear no responsibility for what you are or what she may have created you for. Every creature that has come after your team was made by twisting someone’s mind with her magic to seek nothing but death and destruction, if they were not already so cruel in the first place. They were machines of annihilation with traits of what were once living beings, but they were no longer  _ people _ ,” he says, emphatic and sincere. 

Ro’s throat is tight, hot, and it’s a fight to keep his voice from rasping when he speaks. “There’s no reason to think I’m not the same. Maybe I was just made to  _ look _ human —  _ sane _ — so I could infiltrate first.” 

Lotor shakes his head. “Why wait so long to act? To what purpose? You have been here for almost a year with no harm brought to your team by any work of your own hands,” he says, and shakes his head again. “No, I think it more likely that your mind, your resilience, proved too hard to best and she was forced to make use of you in some other, more subtle way than mindless carnage, and it would appear she has been able to accomplish almost nothing with the attempt.” 

“That’s… what I’ve been thinking, too,” Pidge says, rubbing her forehead wearily. “I just can’t  _ find _ anything. Whatever she did, whatever she  _ meant  _ to do, is buried somewhere even  _ I _ can’t get to and until we have that intel we’re in the dark. All we can do is think of contingencies and be prepared for… something. I don’t know what.” 

It falls silent for a long moment and Ro can’t stop staring at Lotor, completely thrown by his easy acceptance of this, of  _ Ro _ , and that he’s not arguing to remove him from the table. In the short time they’ve known the Emperor, he has always been extremely cautious of anything to do with Haggar, almost to the point of paranoia, and the fact that he’s not only willing to let Ro stay, but is being  _ kind _ to him, is past the point of belief. 

“I will look into this,” Lotor says, breaking the silence and leaning forward over his knees, looking between Shiro and Ro. “I do not have Haggar’s codes, but I know where to look for her secrets better than most and I have more people on hand who can help search.” 

“We appreciate it,” Shiro nods, and Lotor inclines his head in return. 

It’s quiet again for a second, most of the tension draining out of the room — though not entirely from Ro, not when this all seems too easy, too good to be true — but then Lance straightens up in his seat and smacks his hands against his thighs. 

“Okay, then. If that’s all the business done, it’s game night, yeah? So let’s play some games!” He claps his hands together twice and waves his hands around in random shooing motions. “Chop chop everyone!” 

Hunk chuckles, shoving against Lance’s shoulder. “Yeah, okay, calm down. I’ll go get the snacks.” He pushes up from the couch and heads off toward the kitchen, Coran rushing to catch up with an offer to help carry everything. 

“Are you two going to stay?” Pidge asks, looking at Allura and Lotor. 

“I don’t know…” Allura says, expression pinched. “I really should—” 

“Oh come on, Princess,” Shiro says, and his face splits into a smile. “Even  _ I’m  _ taking the night off and I know Lotor was planning to stay until tomorrow afternoon anyway. You guys should join us.” 

“I have not played a game like that in decaphoebs,” Lotor says, looking thoughtfully at the jury-rigged console for a moment before his lips lift in a smile. “This sounds like a wonderful idea. Allura?” 

Allura’s gaze slides over to him and searches his eager smile. Her shoulders sag. “Oh alright. I suppose I  _ could _ use a break.” 

Lance throws his hands up with an excited whoop just as Coran and Hunk come back in carrying trays laden with snacks and drinks. Pidge jumps up to finish setting up the Game Flux and, next to Ro, Shiro sinks back into his seat, arms crossed loosely over his chest. 

Ro eases back beside him, their shoulders pressing together again, and lets out a long, deep breath. 

Well. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. There’s still a thrum of residual unease swirling in his stomach, but that’s probably more from having to face all of this head on than from concern about what Lotor’s going to do. The Emperor wouldn’t stick around to play video games if he were concerned Ro was going to cause trouble, he’d be running off to gather intel. 

“You alright?” Shiro murmurs, eyes on the noise and chaos around them. 

Ro looks around at everyone — all of them relaxed and smiling and bright, none of them skirting away from his spot on the couch or avoiding his eyes when their gazes lock — feels the warm pressure of Shiro against him, and remembers Lotor’s kind, graceful words. It’s not like any of this is fixed. It’s not like he knows for sure that his team is safe from him yet. But knowing that they all seem genuinely concerned about making it happen, and quickly, is making the anxiety settle, just a little. 

Maybe… maybe they’ll actually figure this out. Maybe it will be okay. 

“Yeah,” Ro says, leaning back into the couch like Shiro is doing, letting out a steady, easy breath. “Yeah, I think I’m alright.” 

~~~ 

It’s a few days later during a post-mission debrief that Lotor calls them. 

“I am still searching for more precise information, but based on Ro’s story I believe this, at least, may help. I’m sending you a list, now, of all the ships that have housed druids or been used for conducting Haggar’s experiments, as well as whatever information I could find about precisely what happened on each ship.” 

Coran’s console beeps a moment later with the incoming message and he throws it up on the central hologram while Allura gives Lotor her thanks and ends the call. 

After some digging, Pidge finds all the druids’ ships’ travel logs, constantly pinging with their updated locations, and immediately pulls out her “Galra Finder” to compare the two. They spend the next few days quietly boarding every cross-matched cruiser in the near vicinity and downloading every scrap of data they can get from the enemy ships’ databases. 

Unfortunately, there’s not been anything useful in the main logs, not so far. By the pre-mission brief for ship number six, several of them have suggested they may need to go  _ into _ the druids’ labs to access their computers directly, but Shiro won’t agree, not with how dangerous the druids are.

After the briefing, Pidge flies Hunk, Shiro, Allura, and herself up to the ship in the cloaked Green Lion and the four of them sneak inside before splitting up to head toward the ship’s main computer and the prison cells in two separate groups. Lance and Red run distraction, keeping the fighters and the bridge’s attention to draw as many sentries away from the others as he can with the castle’s assistance. 

They’ve done the same routine five times already and it goes without a hitch, all the way up until this newest ship’s commander follows the usual protocol of contacting the Lion outside and demanding their unconditional surrender. As usual, Lance automatically links the broadcast to the castleship. 

Ro freezes as the demands echo around the bridge. 

“I recognize that voice…” he murmurs, the cool silver and blue lighting and relative quiet of the bridge fading to dark, sickly purple and the harsh clank of Empire sentries, the sharp whine of blaster shots, the rapid pounding of his heart in his throat. 

Coran looks over his shoulder, brow pinched. “What was that, Ro?” 

“Shiro!” Ro calls, clenching his shaking fingers and willing away the panic thrumming at the back of his head, an echo of a memory. “Shiro, I know the commander’s voice, I heard it over the comms when I was escaping the Galra cruiser.” 

It’s quiet for a long, agonizing second, and then Shiro asks, low and serious, “Are you sure?” 

“ _ Yes, _ I’m positive,” Ro says, wrapping his hands around the edge of the console and squeezing until it creaks. “Pidge, the main computer database isn’t going to have the intel, just like all the other ships we’ve already hacked. You have to go into the druids’ lab and access their files directly.” 

“Haven’t we already discussed how that’s  _ really _ dangerous?” Hunk asks. “There could be druids  _ in _ the lab and we all know how tough they are to beat.” 

“He’s right, that’s a huge risk,” Shiro says, words breathy and short as his and Hunk’s dots on the map Ro’s using to track everyone dash down a corridor. 

Allura makes a quiet noise of agreement. “Especially so last minute. We did not prepare for this in the briefing and none of us learned the way to that area of the ship. You would have to direct us step-by-step the whole way there.” 

All of them are right, Ro knows they are. This is  _ dangerous _ , asking them to change the plan in the middle of the mission, changing Pidge and Allura’s route completely  _ and _ hoping the path stays clear, all on the chance that the ship holds the information they need. The whole team could get hurt, the innocent prisoners Hunk and Shiro are on their way to rescue could get hurt, all so Ro can know what he is. 

Ro grits his teeth and sucks in a slow, shaky breath, closing his eyes to the flash of lasers and Galra fighters as Coran keeps firing, keeping the Galra busy while the rest of them dither over Ro’s request. 

He knows this would be stupid, not to mention selfish, but…  _ Damnit. _

He  _ needs _ answers. They all need answers. 

“Shiro,” Ro breathes, eyes still shut tight. “ _ Please _ .” 

“This is the first solid lead we’ve ever had on this,” Pidge speaks up after a long, silent pause. “We may never get this close to an answer again, not without taking a much bigger risk.” 

“They’re not putting up much of a fight out here, Shiro,” Lance chimes in. “The castle can handle things if any of you need an emergency extraction.” 

“Hunk? Allura? What do you think?” Shiro asks. 

Hunk lets out a quiet groan and his dot stops moving abruptly in the middle of the hall; Ro can imagine him tipping his head back toward the ceiling as he weighs the pros and cons. “We’re… As far as we know, our safety is already at risk every day that we spend not knowing anything about where Ro came from. We can’t afford to put this off any longer, not when there’s an opportunity right in front of us to get some answers. And this  _ is _ the main reason we’re here on the ship in the first place.” 

“Allura?” Shiro asks. 

“I, too, would like all of our questions to be put to rest,” she says. “But this matter affects the two of you the most, so you should be the one to make the final decision.” 

It’s quiet again for a long moment, and then Shiro lets out a sharp, quick sigh. “Alright. Ro, lead them to the lab. Lance, I want you ready for an  _ immediate  _ extraction. And Pidge, I don’t care if you’ve got all the intel downloaded or not, if any druids show up you  _ get out _ .” 

“Yes sir!” 

The next few minutes are tense, nerve-wracking. Even with most of the sentries out manning the dozens of Galra fighters swarming around the cruiser, there’s still a regular patrol through the hallways and getting Pidge and Allura past them takes all of his concentration, leaving Hunk and Shiro mostly on their own. But they get inside the lab unhindered at the same time that Hunk and Shiro start leading the prisoners back toward the cloaked Green Lion, progress slow with a dozen individuals to keep safe and unseen. 

“All clear, starting the download now,” Pidge says. 

The five minutes it takes to download the data creep by agonizingly slow; Ro’s jaw  _ aches _ , teeth clenched tight, and the outer frame of the monitor creaks periodically, reminding him to ease up on his grip, over and over and over. Pidge and Allura’s dots stay motionless, on guard and waiting, and Hunk and Shiro move steadily closer back toward Green. 

“Done!” Pidge says, the word barely out of her mouth before Allura’s shouting, “Get down!” and an explosion echoes through the comms. 

“Pidge!” Ro calls, eyes glued to the map on his screen, watching the green and pink markers dart around the room to the sound of harsh breathing and the sharp cracks of Allura’s whip, Pidge’s bayard blade, and electricity. “Allura! What’s going on?” 

“It’s a Druid!” Pidge grunts, voice strained. “Lance, we need that extraction!” 

“On my way!” 

Ro shifts his gaze to the yellow and black dots and sees that they’re just reaching the Green Lion. “Shiro, Hunk, status?” 

“We’re loading everyone up now, but Ro,” Shiro says, panting, and the trace of concern in his voice is so slight Ro almost doesn’t catch it over the sounds of Allura and Pidge’s fight still coming over the comm, “...we don’t have a pilot. We can’t go anywhere.” 

Ro stills, blood draining out of his face. Shit. Shitshitshitshit _ shit _ . Sentient or not, the Lions don’t just fly about on their own when asked. Someone needs to be at the controls, connecting with them. How had he not fucking  _ thought of that _ before he sent them on this chase for intel? 

_ Fuck! _

“I’ll— I’ll try to get Pidge to you,” he stutters, mind working in overdrive. “Shiro, you’re the head of Voltron, see if Green will respond to you, but I’ll get Lance to drop Pidge off as soon as he can.” 

“Understood,” Shiro says, his map marker lurching forward to dash into the Green Lion and up into her cockpit. 

“You should hurry, Lance,” Hunk says, breaths heavy and grunting with effort. “We were spotted a few corridors back and now we’ve got like, a whole army of sentries on our tail.” 

Red is already speeding toward the druids’ section of the cruiser so fast she’s a blur. “I’m on it!” Lance calls, cut off by someone else’s sharp cry of pain. 

“Pidge!” Allura shouts, almost drowned out by a sudden roar of crackling sound and everyone else’s alarmed yells. When it dies down the quiet, pained whimper echoing around the bridge make’s Ro’s heart stop. 

“I’ve got you, it’s going to be okay,” Allura says, and her pink mark is hovering over Pidge’s green one. “Lance, we need you! Now!” 

“I’m here, I’m here! Hold on to something!” 

A horrifying shriek of tearing metal pierces Ro’s ears, and he looks out the viewport to see Red’s massive head disappearing into the side of the cruiser. 

“Allura, you good?” Lance yells. 

“We are inside. Go, straight to the castle!” 

Ro distantly hears Shiro calling for Hunk to switch places with him as the Red Lion pulls itself back out of the ship and dips and dives through the still scrambling fighters, the castle’s lasers cutting them out of her path thanks to Coran’s ceaseless efforts. 

“Allura?” Ro asks. “What happened? Is Pidge hurt?” 

“Yes, one of the druids hit her with their magic,” Allura says, voice clipped but calm, and Pidge’s comm suddenly cuts off, so she must have taken off the Green Paladin’s helmet. “She’s breathing, but we need to get her in a pod as soon as possible.” 

Ro curses and darts his eyes back to the map. “Shiro? Hunk?” 

“Um,” Hunk says, and his voice is some mix of confusion and awe, and then his expression mirrors that when his face pops up on the Green Lion’s video comm, Hunk seated firmly in the pilot’s seat. “I think Green just agreed to let me fly her.” 

“...What?” 

“We can worry about it later,” Shiro jumps in. “Ro, get down to Red’s hangar and take Pidge straight to a pod. Allura, we need to wormhole ou—” 

His voice ends abruptly, comm signal fizzing out, and Ro’s heart lurches for a second time. “Shiro!” 

“Shiro!” Hunk yells at the same time, darting out of his seat. 

It’s not silent, it’s not silent at all. Lance is still grunting and cursing as he fights the rest of the way through the battlefield, and Allura’s murmuring assurances to Pidge, and the hum and rumble of the castle’s lasers firing trembles through the floor under his feet. 

But Ro’s head  _ echoes _ inside, horribly quiet, an ongoing deadness in the wake of Shiro’s shattered voice. 

_ No. Oh god, please no _ . 

It’s endless, an eternity of silence, and then Hunk reappears on the screen, face flushed and worried, but not horrified, not grief-stricken, and the Green Lion’s marker on the map pulls away from the far side of the cruiser. Hunk makes a wide path around the battle to avoid running into anything while Green is cloaked and Ro can’t even say anything, can’t even ask, paralyzed with fear, but Hunk takes a deep breath after a minute and lets it out again. 

“He’s okay,” Hunk says. “His helmet took most of the hit.” 

It comes to him from a distance, comforting, reassuring — in tone and in word — but it barely does anything to stop the pounding of Ro’s heart. 

“Ro!” someone says, cutting through the fog, and Ro glances up to see Coran twisted around at his console, brow pinched. “You need to meet the Red Lion when she arrives in her hangar.” 

Right.  _ Right _ . Pidge is hurt. Pidge is hurt and she needs a pod and there’s still a cruiser out there coming after them so Allura needs to get up to the bridge to make a wormhole and Lance is strong, but two people can move Pidge faster than one. None of this will be solved by standing still and panicking, and no matter what else Ro is —  _ who _ he is — he refuses to be someone who fails when his team needs him. So Ro turns and jogs off the bridge, making his way down entirely on autopilot. 

But on the inside, he feels… shattered.

Because he screwed up. Getting the answers he wants isn’t worth  _ two _ of his teammates getting hurt, not to him. Not  _ for _ him. He should have just  _ left _ , all those long weeks ago, not stuck around and put them all in a position where they felt like they  _ needed _ answers to make sure they were safe. 

They would be safe if Ro could just  _ go _ . 

And that’s the solution, isn’t it? There’s not even a guarantee that whatever he is, whatever he was made to do, is something that can be  _ undone _ , fixed, made safe. That’s just a dream, a fantasy, and holding onto it will have been the worst mistake of his life if  _ this _ was the cost of trying to make it real.

So… maybe it’s time. Time to say goodbye. 

All of them will understand, some better and sooner than the others, but they’re all so damn smart and they’ll  _ know _ why it’s necessary. Allura will probably even be  _ happy _ to see him go, with Keith and his ever-present practicality coming behind her in a close second. That is, if Keith even cares, considering Ro hasn’t heard from him since he left. Hunk is protective enough and cautious enough he’ll probably be the next to agree it’s for the best, and Pidge will follow at his heels. 

Well, then again, maybe it won’t take Pidge so long. After all, it’s  _ Ro’s _ fault she’s hurt. It would make sense for her to blame him. To want him gone where he can’t hurt her, or any of the others, again.

Coran and Lance will be the hardest to convince, especially Lance. And actually, Lance may never be content with Ro’s decision. Even through the fog of pain, the haze of his failure, that’s enough to warm Ro’s shaken spirit, as much as it aches to know that he’s leaving that kind of loyalty behind.

And all that leaves is Shiro.

Ro honestly has no idea where Shiro will fall. Probably somewhere between Allura and Hunk, though Ro can’t help but hope that it’ll hurt Shiro to admit it’s necessary more than it will hurt the others. That it will hurt to let Ro leave, to say goodbye. Because Ro won’t be coming back and… well, they’ve at least become friends these last few weeks haven’t they? He’s become closer to Shiro than anyone but Lance, and it  _ feels _ like it’s been mutual the whole time. 

Shiro will miss him... won’t he? 

Before Ro even registers that he’s arrived, Allura is dashing past him as he makes his way into Red’s hangar and then up the ramp to where Lance is supporting Pidge’s limp frame, stripped of her armor plates. Ro ducks down to sling her other arm over his shoulder, trying to be careful. There aren’t any visible injuries on her, not like a blaster shot or blade would leave, but her skin has gone gray and her expression is pinched with pain, even in unconsciousness, and Ro’s throat feels thick and tight when he swallows. 

“Let’s get her up to a pod,” he says. 

Lance nods and they head off as quickly as they can without jostling her. 

While they’re on their way the castle rumbles softly around them with a wormhole jump, and by the time they make it to the infirmary Coran is already prepping a pod. They wrangle Pidge inside, propping her up as best they can before the glass closes around her and ices over. 

“She’ll be all right,” Lance says, but it sounds more like he’s saying it to himself. 

“Yes, her vitals are stable,” Coran says, hand falling against Ro’s shoulder and squeezing briefly before falling away. “You’ll stay with her, though?” 

Ro nods and Lance and Coran both leave to meet the Green Lion in her docking bay to help with the freed prisoners. But Ro stays frozen in place, unable to tear his eyes away from Pidge’s unconscious expression, her brow still stuck in a pained furrow. 

She’ll be okay. Coran had said so, but Ro can’t stop hearing her scream, Allura’s shout of alarm, the dead, echoing silence of Shiro’s comm. 

It’s not the first time Ro’s been terrified, not with the kind of life he has, but that  _ last _ scare, that second time today when his heart  _ stopped _ , Ro was sure it would never start again. Not if he didn’t hear that uncomfortably, surreally, magnificently familiar voice speak again. The maelstrom of shock and fear is settling — slowly, agonizingly — solidifying into something Ro can pick at, sort through, start decoding the mess of powerful, overwhelming emotion he’d felt during the long minute when he feared Shiro was dead. 

Because he’s known Shiro  _ matters _ to him for a while, in that way where it creeps up slowly and surely, where you’re always aware that it’s happening, but only gradually realizing the  _ significance _ . And he thought he knew, thought he’d weighed Shiro’s importance accurately, but now he’s pretty sure his eyes skimmed over a hefty, sizeable data point when he’d been filling up the scale. 

There might not even be a scale sturdy enough to weigh something this heavy. 

“ _ Shit _ ,” Ro whispers, leaning his forehead against the cold glass of Pidge’s pod and closing his eyes. 

Quiet, heavy footsteps tread through the doorway and up to Ro’s side, a broad palm falling to rest against his back. 

Ro inhales deeply through his nose, pushing the revelation aside for later. 

Possibly forever.

“She gonna be okay?” Shiro asks. 

Ro backs away from the pod and folds his arms over his chest. “That’s what Coran said. Will take a day or two, though.” 

He sees Shiro nod in his peripheral and the hand on Ro’s back slides up to his shoulder for a quick squeeze. “You wanna help patch me up? I’ve been given strict orders for treatment.” 

It’s been easier to look at Pidge than Shiro, even though it’s Ro’s fault she’s hurt, and he has to brace himself before finally turning to face Shiro fully. His eyes are immediately drawn to the splatter of blood dripping down from a cut high up on the side of Shiro’s head, one thin rivulet snaking past his ear and down his neck. Ro’s heart, already battered from the last twenty minutes, gives a wobbly, broken thrum, and he curls the fingers of his flesh hand into a fist to keep from reaching up and brushing them through Shiro’s hair. 

“Yeah, alright,” he murmurs, and turns toward the cabinet where they’ve started keeping a medkit for patching up the minor injuries that don’t warrant the use of a pod. 

When he comes back, the two of them sit down on the steps leading up to the cryo chambers and Ro roots around in the kit for the supplies he knows are inside. 

He works in silence, wiping the blood off of Shiro’s skin and scrubbing it out of his hair as best as he can before cleaning out the cut and binding it shut with the glue. Shiro sits just as quietly, the only sign of discomfort a tightening around his eyes when Ro sprays him with the antiseptic. Ro caps the bottle and pulls out a square of gauze, laying the fabric against Shiro’s head and reaching for the tape. 

“I’m leaving,” Ro’s blurts, shattering the silence, the words spilling out of his mouth before his brain even registers that he’s been thinking them again. Shiro blinks, turning to face him, and Ro’s hands fall away, gauze and tape clutched tight in his white knuckles. 

“...What?” 

He hadn’t meant to do it this way, but… Well, he might as well just get it out and done with, now that he’s already started. “It’s time for me to leave,” Ro says. “Long past due, even. Today’s proof that I shouldn’t have stayed in the first place.” 

“Ro, what are you talking about?” Shiro asks, his human hand latching onto Ro’s knee and digging in, just this side of painful. “Why would you think that?” 

“Pidge got hurt,” Ro says, voice catching a little at the end. “ _ You _ got hurt because of me, because of what I wanted.” 

“We get hurt on missions all the time,” Shiro says, frowning. “That’s inevitable with what we do. Sure, Pidge wouldn’t have been in the lab if you hadn’t recognized the Commander’s voice, but that’s where she  _ needed _ to be to get what we were looking for, and I knew that even before we left. Lance, Allura, Pidge — they all pointed that out to me plenty during the brief, and they were right, because getting this intel was the whole point of the mission. I just didn’t want to risk it without good reason or without everyone being in agreement.” 

Ro grits his teeth and swallows through a tight, burning throat. “If I wasn’t here, the mission wouldn’t have been necessary in the first place. So I—” 

“But you  _ are _ here,” Shiro cuts in, expression firm, serious, but his eyes are inexplicably soft. “We all agreed that figuring this out is a priority, one of our biggest.  _ Pidge _ agreed that getting answers outweighed the risk today. You should trust her judgment, Ro,  _ all  _ of our judgment. We trusted in yours when we agreed to the change of plans.” 

Ro’s breath shudders out of him and he shakes his head, closing his eyes, unable to keep looking at Shiro’s calm, kind gaze. “But what if this is what I’m here for? To— to change plans, to be trusted when I  _ shouldn’t be _ . It seems like all my decisions end with one of you hurt, and what if that— what if that’s what she  _ made me  _ for?” 

“Seems like kind of a vague plan,” Shiro says wryly. “After everything else she’s thrown at us — after the intelligence and cunning she’s shown in the past — tossing you at us with the sole goal of altering mission plans and hoping someone gets hurt seems rather… desperate.” 

“I’m here for  _ something _ , Shiro,” Ro says, lifting his head, heart pounding with residual dread and fear from earlier today and from all the times before, from every dark moment when he’s let himself think about this. “She wouldn’t have put so much time and energy into this plan without some larger purpose. You  _ know _ that.” 

“I do,” Shiro says, nodding, and he reaches out to carefully extract the gauze and tape from Ro’s clenched fingers, setting them off to the side. “And now we have the intel, probably. In a few days — after Pidge gets out of the pod and has some time to decode it all — we should have the answers. At least wait until then to leave.” 

“Shiro…” 

Shiro shakes his head and snags Ro’s hands, squeezing gently. “We said we would fix this,” he says, soft and quiet, all furrowed brow and concerned eyes. “ _ Please _ , let us fix this.” 

Ro searches his face, stomach sinking and heart thumping simultaneously when he finds nothing but sincerity and hope. 

And this time, he  _ crumbles _ .

Maybe it’s shameful to be this weak. After all, Ro knows what he  _ should _ do, what the safest course of action for all of them is, and he should be strong enough to accept the pain and do what’s right. It’s not as if it would have been easy to leave — it would be the hardest thing he’s  _ ever _ had to do — but now with Shiro asking him outright to stay, to give them time, to let them make him safe... It’s impossible. 

All his reasons pale in the face of that and what’s left is  _ hope _ , that damnable dream that keeps breathing — that  _ keeps him breathing _ — that somehow, some way, he can have a life here with his team, safe and happy.

Ro pulls in a slow, deep breath, and nods once. “Okay.” 

“Yeah?” Shiro asks. 

“Yeah,” Ro nods again. “Yeah, I’ll wait.”

~~~

Twenty-nine hours later Pidge gets out of the pod and the second thing she does — right after scarfing down a sandwich — is to start running decryptions on the intel they stole from the druids’ lab. Things are basically normal in the meantime, none of their routines disrupted, and Ro still shows up for all the usual things — morning training, which is actually a new thing; all three meals of the day in the dining room; evening training with Shiro; afternoon paperwork with Shiro; castle cleaning and maintenance with Shiro; watching movies late at night with Shiro. 

Maybe he wouldn’t have realized just how much time he’s come to spend in Shiro’s presence every day if it weren’t for the way he seems to have taken Ro’s lack of protest about him holding Ro’s hand in the medbay as permission to start touching him far more often — brushing shoulders and fingertips when they’re standing next to each other, deliberately leaning into one another on movie nights, mock wrestling instead of sparring seriously on the training deck, and wrapping an arm around Ro’s waist and tugging him impossibly closer when one of them wakes up from a nightmare. 

It’s confusing and warm and wonderful and  _ nerve wracking, _ and Ro never wants it to stop.

But he can’t help but wonder what it  _ means _ . Friends don’t touch like this, not this much, not  _ constantly _ . Or at least Shiro never has before, and back at the pool Ro had every intention of burying his attraction — the spark of longing — because they  _ are _ friends and Ro refused to mess that up. 

It’s so much harder to ignore, now, but Ro’s still too afraid to  _ ask _ .

He knows what he  _ wants _ it to mean, but it seems impossible, even with how close they’ve gotten. Ro remembers damn well who Shiro gets butterflies over, and even if he didn’t remember, he can still see it happening to Shiro almost every day. 

After all, Lance still makes his own heart pound as well. 

So a few more days go by and then Pidge announces at dinner that she’s cracked the encryption and has sifted through the translated data. Everyone follows her up to the bridge after they’re done eating and she pulls up a few files on the central hologram. 

“Most of it seemed unrelated to us, so I’m not going to waste time on it right now. Someone can look through it later,” she says, taking an empty spot in the circle they’ve all formed around the middle of the bridge. “There were only three reports that I think are what we’re looking for. The first one logged the arrival of ‘Subject Y0XT39’ on board, and a few days later permission was received from Haggar herself to launch what’s only referred to as ‘Stage 3.’ Several hours later, a final report on the successful launch of the third stage, ‘Operation Kuron,’ was logged. But that’s all I’ve got.” 

Ro sucks in a startled breath. 

Operation Kuron. 

_ Kuron _ . 

It feels as if his heart has dropped straight to his feet, sudden and violent, and Ro tips his head up and closes his eyes, blinking away the prickle of heat. 

_ Fuck. _

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Shiro echos. Ro hears him as if from a long way off, his voice quiet and shaking with rage. “How fucking deep did she dig into my head?!” 

“What do you mean?” someone asks, too indistinct for Ro to catch over the roaring in his ears, the deafening beat of his pulse pumping fast and painful with adrenaline, fear,  _ misery _ .

“It’s the word for ‘clone’ in Japanese,” Ro chokes out, swallowing tightly and trying to reign himself in. He drops his head back down and opens his eyes, just in time to see Shiro whirl around and march off the bridge, shoulders and expression both tight with fury, and the heart he’d thought had already fallen out of his chest rends itself in half. 

He can feel everyone’s gaze slowly shifting toward him, hesitant, uncomfortable, maybe even a little worried, but Ro can’t deal with it right now. He can’t deal with anything right now, and he backs away from the dais with a shake of his head. 

“Sorry, I just— I need some time.” 

And he flees.


	7. Chapter 7

Shiro avoids Ro entirely after that. Ro can’t even catch a glimpse of him, like Ro’s been tagged in his sleep and Shiro’s constantly tracking his whereabouts just so he knows when to leave a room to avoid being spotted. Every scrap of his usual routine has been tossed out, and that, maybe, is what worries Ro the most, because Shiro needs those routines to feel stable, just like Ro does. If he’s completely abandoned them, then he must already be so off-kilter it doesn’t even matter. 

It’s not as if it matters much anyway, because Ro isn’t exactly searching for him. He’s too busy trying to sort through the mess in his own head. The fear and devastation of those first few days after Shiro’s return have come back with a vengeance and it’s leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He’d thought… He’d thought Shiro wanted him here, thought they were friends at the very least, and maybe something… 

But maybe  _ nothing _ . With the clear title on that report none of them, least of himself, can pretend he’s not precisely what they all suspected. Everything he’s ever feared about himself, every single one of his nightmares are real; there’s no reason to think the ones about Shiro aren’t true, too. 

Despite that, the three youngest Paladins have been dragging him to the kitchen at mealtimes every single day, keeping up lighthearted conversations, and Lance spends most evenings accompanying Ro wherever he goes. Coran has been popping up everywhere, too, offering jobs for Ro to distract himself with and clapping him on the shoulder every time Coran walks past him.

It doesn’t make it all  _ better _ , but it helps. 

He’s in the conference room with Coran one evening after dinner — finishing an extra slew of reports from a particularly large battle on the other end of the system — when Allura shows up. She strides in with her hands clasped in front of her and her head held proudly, but her expression is neutral, even subdued, and she opens her mouth to speak before closing it again and looking down at the floor. 

Ro glances over at Coran and finds him watching the Princess with a look he has memories of seeing on Shiro’s father’s face at every one of his martial arts tournaments — hopeful expectation mixed with softly budding pride. 

He turns back to Allura just as she raises her head again, eyes steely with determination, and says “My highest priority is the safety of this team so I won’t apologize for remaining watchful and suspicious of any and all threats that come our way. However—” and she pauses, expression softening as she looks down at Ro, her clasped hands twisting and squeezing together just enough for Ro to spot the nervous tick. “I’ve seen how you’ve been taking care of all of us, making food every day and helping Coran around the castle and working with the team. And I could hear how frightened you were for Pidge and I the other day. I believe, now, that you would never willingly hurt any of us. If anything  _ does _ happen, it will not be your fault. It will not be something you  _ want _ to do.”

Ro’s throat tightens up, hot and thick. 

“I will, of course, keep a close watch for any signs of danger,” Allura continues, lips curling up in a tiny, sincere smile, “but I trust you.”

Ro tries to choke out a thanks, works his tight throat to say something,  _ anything _ , but then Allura’s coming around the table before he can manage and putting her hands on his shoulders, bending to look him in the eye. She gives his upper arms a quick squeeze — gaze once more kind and friendly like he hasn’t seen directed his way in  _ months _ — and then she rises and leaves, apparently having reached the maximum amount of affection she can show at any one time. 

The door closes behind her and Ro slumps over and buries his face in his hands, eyes burning. Allura is the most cautious, untrusting person on their team — barring Keith, who isn’t around enough anymore — so if even  _ she’s _ willing to trust him, to believe it’s worth the risk to keep Ro around, then he can almost believe it himself. 

Almost. 

He still thinks he  _ should  _ go . Operation Kuron wasn't a lie — Ro really was created and sent to cause problems for the team, somehow. But after everything, all of the support and camaraderie, it's getting harder and harder to stomach the idea of actually leaving. Maybe that's why he's been swayed so easily time and time again to stay.

Coran wraps an arm around his shoulders and tugs him close. “It’s alright to cry, Number One. You’ve had a tough time lately, haven’t you?” 

Ro swallows around his tight throat and nods, wiping at his eyes when a few tears leak free. “I don’t— I still don’t think it’s safe for me to be here, Coran, not when we still don’t know what I was made for. But I don’t want to leave. I  _ should _ , but I don’t want to.”

Coran hums, rubbing Ro’s shoulders and spine in rough, soothing circles. “Well, since Allura’s given the okay, it looks like you’re staying.” 

“There’s still Shiro,” Ro says, and his brows lift in surprise when Coran frowns; Ro’s pretty sure he’s  _ never _ seen Coran frown, not outside of concern for Allura. “Coran?” 

“Ro, have you asked  _ Shiro _ about his thoughts on all of this?” Coran asks. 

Ro shakes his head. “I— I was starting to think…” He sighs, propping an elbow on the table and resting his forehead on his hand. “It doesn’t matter what I thought, obviously I was wrong.” 

“You should ask,” Coran says, giving him one last squeeze before pulling away. “Assumptions will only lead to misunderstandings and discord, after all. But let’s set that worry aside for another time. Did Rolo ever send in his report about Gorfiv Five’s wresbp’reuu problem?” 

Ro sucks in a breath, following Coran’s advice by shoving all the turmoil into a box and forgetting about it while he finds the file Coran asked for. He can’t fall apart at the drop of a hat, he has work to do.

~~~ 

In his efforts to avoid Shiro, Ro’s gone back to his old habit of wandering the halls in the evenings instead of heading to the training deck. He’s sitting on his ass in the observation room, staring up at the stars, when Lance finds him a couple of days after the official clone reveal. 

“You okay, buddy?” Lance asks.

Ro lifts his lips in a wry smile. “Not really.” 

Lance is quiet for a moment and then warm, spindly fingers wrap around Ro’s hand and tug upwards. “Come on. You shouldn’t be by yourself right now.” 

Ro sighs, but lets Lance drag him off the floor and out into the corridor. His hand is warm and calloused in Ro’s, holding firmly all the way down to the lounge. 

When they get there, Lance pulls his hand away with a soft smile before shoving Ro down onto the couch and chuckling at Ro’s huff of surprise. “Stay put!” he says, pointing his finger imperiously. “I’m going to go grab Hunk and Pidge, you’re going to wait for us all to come back, and then we’re going to waste all of our precious time tonight shooting NPCs in the head.” 

Which is exactly what they proceed to do, and Ro knows better than to protest. 

But it’s not like he wants to; it’s nice. A bit noisy after the quiet hallways what with Lance and Pidge’s competitive natures at war — or, rather, Lance’s competitive nature drawing out Pidge’s unrelenting need to prove herself, as well as younger-sibling pettiness — and Hunk’s fluctuating between half-hearted attempts to calm them down and deep chuckles of amusement at the more colorful insults and dramatic shouts of indignation. But nice. 

An hour or so goes by and Ro starts to sink back into the cushions, tension slowly, achingly seeping out of him bit by bit, and when he’s practically boneless but for the strength needed to operate the controller, Lance leans heavily into his side between rounds and glances over with quiet concern 

“Shiro hasn’t talked to you yet, has he?” 

Ro’s heart clenches, stutters,  _ hurts _ , and he shakes his head, staring down at his hands. “I… I’m not sure I want to hear what he would have to say anyway.” 

“What do you mean?” Pidge asks. 

“Everything has been speculation up until now,” Ro explains, trying to find the words for the mess of impressions and feelings and instincts he just  _ has _ about Shiro, coupled with the maelstrom of fears and questions and uncertainties about what they are to each other, what Ro is to the team in Shiro’s eyes, what his purpose is in the universe. “It’s… I imagine it’s been easier to just set it all aside and pretend nothing was wrong until there was enough proof to make a judgement call. There’s not enough questions left anymore to bother holding back on that.” 

It’s quiet for a moment as they all seem to wrestle with decoding Ro’s meaning, picking out the conclusion that he can’t bear to put into words. 

“You think he’s going to make you leave,” Pidge says. 

Ro nods, not bothering to voice that that’s the  _ kindest _ treatment he’s expecting. 

Lance makes an affronted sound and snags Ro’s hand in his own and squeezes. “There’s no way. Shiro wouldn’t do that.” 

Ro shakes his head. It’s frustrating, trying to explain something that he’s known down to his core from the beginning, but he tries. “You guys don’t… you don’t know him like I do. He would never risk the safety of his team.”

“But you’re on the team!” Lance says. 

Ro sighs, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling and shrugs. “I’m not a Paladin anymore, Lance. I can’t do what Allura can do with the ship or as a Coalition leader. I only know how to do a small portion of Coran’s jobs and that’s only because he’s shown me. There’s nothing I bring to the table that someone else doesn’t already. And when we still don’t know  _ why _ Haggar made me, what I’m supposed to do here, it’s not worth the risk. I know it’s not, I just can’t—“ 

_ — can’t bear the idea of saying goodbye to all of you. _

It’s quiet for a long moment and then it’s Hunk that speaks up, soft, but steady and firm. “You  _ do _ bring something to the team, Ro.  _ Time _ . All of us have time, now, to eat, to rest, to breathe. We’ve got real, palatable food on our plates at every meal and Coran’s lost that manic gleam of exhaustion in his eyes and Shiro and Allura can actually go to bed at a decent time or even come hang out with us for a few hours here and there. We  _ all  _ can. Even if you don’t bring anything  _ new _ to the table, which is totally the wrong way to think about your value in the first place, what you  _ do  _ is cover all the empty places that none of us can fill because we don’t have the time. We can’t do  _ everything,  _ but you being here means we don’t have to, it’s lightened the load on all of us, made everything about this team better.” 

Ro’s heart swells with warmth even as the logical side of his brain reminds him that just about anyone could have been brought onto the ship to do the same thing. Maybe the others have never considered the possibility, maybe they've all just been too paranoid since Arus and wouldn’t have risked bringing in anyone they don’t already trust implicitly. But they could have found someone they trusted  _ enough _ , someone far more skilled at any of Ro’s responsibilities than him. 

But Lance and Pidge are nodding along enthusiastically, sincerely, and Ro can’t bring himself to brush aside their gratitude, not even to point out the flaws in their defense of Shiro, so he works up a smile and squeezes the hand Lance still has tangled with his own. “Thanks guys.” 

“I can’t speak for anyone else, but you’re a valuable part of the team to me,” Pidge says, cheeks pinking a bit. “And besides. I like you. Even if you didn’t help out as much as you do, I’d still want you to stay.” 

“Ditto,” Lance says, and Hunk nods vigorously. “With all the genius brains on this ship we’ll figure out exactly what Haggar did to you and fix it. We’ve got nothing to worry about.” 

The certainty of that statement is reassuring, a relief, but it makes Ro miss Shiro even more, aching to hear the same thing from  _ him. _

Shiro’s opinion is the one that really matters. 

~~~ 

Keith shows up a couple days later, hair a little longer and possibly a smidgen taller, and Ro’s only the first to know he’s arrived because he’s cleaning the shuttle pods when Keith docks his ship. 

It’s the first time he’s been back since Shiro’s return, too busy with his mission with the Blades for anything more than rushed reports with Kolivan to Allura, and a few brief calls to Shiro that Ro only knows about because he happened to look over at Shiro’s data pad when he had his comm history pulled up. 

Ro keeps so still that Keith doesn’t notice him, and for the rest of the day Ro does all he can to avoid Keith completely. 

The next evening, after a few hours of wandering, he retreats to his room for the night and starts fiddling with the language program on his data pad. Pidge had swiped it from him during dinner a few days ago and slid it under his door in the silent hours of the night, the newly-installed program opened and waiting for him when Ro turned the pad on the next morning. It’s not the best designed app, neither sleek nor aesthetically pleasing because that’s not Pidge’s area of expertise, but it  _ is  _ extremely functional and Ro’s spent most of his spare time the last few days trying to cram as much Altean vocabulary into his brain as he can. It makes his head and throat hurt, but it’s worth it. 

There’s a knock on his door about twenty minutes or so after he starts, and when Ro answers it, Keith is standing there, looking oddly subdued. 

“Hey,” Keith says, kind of quiet and nervous. “Can I come in?” 

Ro nods and steps to the side to let him pass. 

Keith stops in the middle of the room and looks around, his back to Ro, and when he finally turns to face him he’s got a wistful smile on his face. “This is all really weird.” 

Ro huffs a laugh. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.” 

Keith stares at him searchingly, gaze intense but pained, confused. “It’s just—“ he pauses, eyes dropping to the floor and hands clenching at his sides. “There’s so much about you that’s the same, but not everything. There are so many little things that I ignored because I was just so happy to have you back. I didn’t question it even though my gut was telling me  _ something  _ wasn’t right.” 

Ro’s  _ own  _ gut twists in response to that, and he folds his arms tightly over his chest, like he can wrap himself up and hide. “So you knew?” he asks weakly. “From the beginning?” 

“I don’t think ‘knew’ is the best way to say it,” Keith comments, mirroring Ro’s posture and keeping his gaze averted. “Especially since we only just now found out the very basics. But yeah, I guess I knew  _ something  _ was wrong _ . _ So when I found out I was right I suppose I just wasn’t as surprised as everyone else was. I was prepared for the possibility, even if it was only subconsciously, so it was easy to— to forget about you for a while.” 

Ro flinches, heart cracking a little from how much that hurts to hear, and Keith must see it somehow, because he jerks forward and lays a hand on Ro’s arm. 

“Sorry, sorry. That came out— well, not wrong. But it sounds worse than what I meant.” He keeps his hand on Ro’s arm, warm and calloused, fingertips pressing gently into Ro’s skin, and runs his free hand through his hair. “Fuck. Sorry, I’m not good at this kind of stuff.” 

Despite himself, Ro’s lips quirk up in a wry smile. “Yeah. I know.” 

Some of the tension drains out of Keith’s shoulders and he wraps his fingers more firmly around Ro’s arm and tugs him forward a bit. “Come on, come sit down and talk with me. It feels like we’re both braced for a fight and that’s not why I’m here.” 

Keith walks them over to the bed and sits down next to him, close enough for their knees to knock together, and it’s so close to Ro’s memories of the Garrison, all those times he’d sit Keith down and wait patiently for the lonely, defensive, rough-around-the-edges kid to find the words he needed to explain what was going on with him; it’s like all those times Keith tried to do the same with  _ him  _ after carrying him out of the Galra ship, endlessly patient in a way Ro never knew Keith could be, waiting for Ro to decide if there was even anything he  _ wanted _ to say. 

Keith takes a deep breath, eventually, elbows on his knees and body gone still in the way he gets when all his energy is being channeled into thinking. “It’s been hard,” he says, quiet. “I’d had this feeling about you from the beginning, but that didn’t mean I had any idea what to  _ say _ to you once we knew. I let myself get caught up in Shiro, in catching up with him and staying connected, and I didn’t make time for you because I didn’t know what to  _ do _ .” 

“It’s okay, Keith,” Ro says, sighing. “I don’t think anyone  _ could _ know.” 

Keith tilts his head a bit, enough for Ro to see a glimpse of an eye and a sad smile through his hair. “Yeah, but I still should have tried. You’re not… you’re not Shiro, but even when I wasn’t convinced yet that you  _ weren’t  _ him, you were still my best friend. You were still there for me.” 

Ro’s next breath gets strangled in his tightening throat, the catch of it stabbing all the way down through his chest. “ _ No _ , Keith. I wasn’t. I pushed you too hard  _ and  _ I held you back, all at the same time, told you that you had to be a leader and then micromanaged everything you did. I pushed you away.” 

“You didn’t,” Keith says, softly, quietly, and he straightens up only to lean his weight into Ro’s side. “You didn’t, Ro. I— I fought you — what you wanted me to do — _so hard_. I never wanted to be the leader and I didn’t want to take that away from you because you love it so much. I _knew_ how much being the Black Paladin meant to you and no matter how much you said you were okay I knew that couldn’t be true. I couldn’t stand keeping you away from that.” 

His hand reaches out to wrap around Ro’s clenched fist, gripping tight. “I was irresponsible, going off on all those Blade missions when the team needed me here, but it wasn’t because of how you treated me. It was because it hurt so much to sit in Black’s cockpit, knowing I wasn’t the one who belonged in that seat. Black finally letting you pilot her again was a dream come true, you were back where you were supposed to be.”

“Except I’m not Shiro,” Ro rasps. “And I didn’t do any better leading them on my own than when I was trying to control everything through you.” 

Keith frowns, squeezing his hand again. “Have you asked any of the others about this? What  _ they _ thought of your leadership capabilities?” 

Ro chokes out a laugh. “I think I can guess well enough without having to hear it. Temperamental. Dictatorial. Control Freak.” 

“I think our team is more forgiving than that,” Keith reassures. “They’ve forgiven me for all my reckless stunts these last couple of years, after all.” 

Ro shrugs. “Not really the same thing.” 

Keith sighs quietly, but lets it go, leaning back onto his palms. “Well, I know Shiro’s had nothing but positive things to say about you when we’ve talked. You guys friends now?” 

“I—“ and Ro honestly doesn’t even know what to say. Does he stick with the facts of the last couple of months? Does he outline all the hopes that bubbled up inside him only to be dashed and scattered once they finally  _ knew? _ Does he... tell Keith that Ro had  _ thought  _ they were friends, but still couldn’t help the butterflies and sappy smiles and inexplicable attraction from happening every time Shiro was around? 

Keith’s probably the only person he can talk about it casually with, not just because of their friendship, but because Keith has always accepted things like this so easily. He hadn't even batted an eye when someone let him in on Commander Ryu’s  _ two _ husbands  _ and _ their on-again-off-again girlfriend. So if Ro can tell anyone, he can tell Keith, even though he’s still not sure what kind of response he’ll get. 

It’s all been building up inside him for weeks — the pressure aching against his ribcage — and now it feels like it could burst any second, the flood of secret feelings spilling out at the worst moment. So maybe it would be better to let a trickle out now, with someone who won’t cringe at the unconventionality. 

“I like him,” Ro whispers, staring down at his hands. “A lot. More than I should.” 

“How come?” Keith asks. 

“Because it’s  _ weird. _ We have the same face and the same scars and even most of the same memories. How could it  _ not  _ be weird, it’s like the most literal form of narcissism.” Ro glances over to see Keith’s reaction and finds him smiling back in amusement. 

“It’s not like you’re  _ actually _ the same person, you know,” Keith says, brow quirked.

“Does that kind of a technicality even matter?” Ro asks. “He’s the guy I’m  _ cloned  _ from. It’s not just weird, it’s  _ wrong _ . I stole his  _ life _ .” 

Keith frowns, but it’s a sad expression, not an angry one, and he rests a hand on Ro’s knee and squeezes. “That’s not your fault, Ro.” 

“It doesn’t _matter_,” Ro bites, anger and grief swirling riotously, and he closes his eyes and breathes deeply. He’d meant to keep this at a trickle, not a whole flood. “It doesn’t matter that I wouldn’t have chosen to do this, because it happened and _he _doesn’t deserve to have the reminder staring him in the face every day. And he couldn’t possibly want more than that anyway.” 

“I don’t think you realize how much you’ve been helping him, Ro,” Keith says, so, so softly. “You’re helping him so much. Over the last few weeks he’s been acting more and more like himself than he has since before Kerberos.” 

“That— it’s just a coincidence,” Ro says, surprised and confused. Keith doesn’t lie, so he can only assume that from Keith’s perspective Shiro has been healing. But if that’s true, it’s not because of  _ Ro _ . It’s just time. 

Keith shakes his head. “He’s  _ laughing _ again, Ro. You can’t tell me you don’t remember how he was after his capture, it was like he was putting all his energy into being a Paladin so he didn’t have to think about his imprisonment.” 

And that… 

That’s  _ exactly _ what it was like. What was the point in having a sense of humor when the Empire was out there — hurting people, torturing people, taking over the universe one planet at a time and razing everything in its path. 

“He—“ Keith’s voice cracks a bit and he tips his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “He told me the  _ dumbest _ pun I’ve ever heard last night and he was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. I never thought I’d see that again, Ro, and he told me he heard it from  _ you _ . I can’t even begin to explain what that means to me, let alone what it means for  _ him _ . You’re helping him  _ heal _ and you know damn well how much he must trust you for that to happen.” 

“He’s the one helping  _ me _ ,” Ro croaks, thinking of all the nights he’s woken up sweaty and shaking to Shiro’s quiet words of reassurance, of being allowed on the bridge and back into team training, and the way everyone is finally  _ looking at him _ . 

“Then you’re helping each other,” Keith concedes. “ _ That’s _ what matters. Not where you came from, or how you ended up here, only what you’re making of it  _ now _ .” 

Ro swallows thickly, staring down at the white knuckles he has tangled in the fabric of his pant legs. 

“Does he make you happy?” Keith asks. “You said he helps, and I can definitely see how, but do you enjoy spending time with him? Do you have  _ fun _ together?” 

Ro nods, heart skipping a little just from the memory of all of Shiro’s bright smiles and delighted laughter that  _ he’s _ caused, and huffs out a strained laugh. “You may have some competition in the best friend department.” 

Keith chuckles and loops an arm around Ro’s neck, tugging him over into an awkward, warm, perfect hug, cheek pressing against Ro’s hair. “I’m honestly okay with that, if you’re as good for each other as I think you are. And Ro, I’m not trying to convince you to do anything about it. I just want you to let yourself be okay with your own feelings. It’s okay to love him, in whatever way you want to. It’s  _ okay _ .” 

Ro’s next inhale is shaky — maybe a little wet from the appearance of that four-letter word he’s carefully skirted around saying, even in his own head — and he lets it out with a quiet sigh. “Alright.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I think—“ Ro takes another breath, slower, steadier, and nods. “I think I can do that.” 

“Awesome,” Keith says, giving him one long, heartfelt squeeze before pulling back and looking him over. “Now tell me more about that crazy Voltron Show tour, I haven’t heard  _ nearly _ enough.” 

~~~

It’s late when Keith finally leaves and, despite the hours of benign conversation that followed, Ro’s head is still buzzing with everything from the earlier, far more serious discussion. It takes about five minutes to decide he’s not going to be able to get to sleep anytime soon, so he puts his boots on and heads out into the hallway. 

His feet take him to the training deck, back to old habits he’s all but abandoned in the last few weeks; there’s just been so many nights he’s stayed in Shiro’s room and not had any dreams or — when the nightmares  _ have _ come — been soothed back to sleep by Shiro’s quiet reassurances, the warm press of his body against Ro’s, the reminder that he’s not alone. Ro hasn’t needed to find sleep by passing out from sheer exhaustion in what feels like a long time, but it’s been a stressful, endless week and his body is drained and weary and his mind won’t  _ stop _ . It won’t stop replaying Keith’s words and the memory of Shiro’s furious, shattered expression from the bridge on continuous repeat. 

So he strips off his vest, charges up his arm, calls out for the hardest sim level he can manage, and  _ fights _ . 

It’s all he knows for a while — violet quintessence searing through metal limbs and staffs, dodging and running and  _ destroying _ , sweating until his shirt sticks to his chest, until he’s covered in fine nicks and grazes that bleed and sting in time with the vicious, savage violence — because it’s the only way to chase the demons that have reappeared to haunt him  _ away _ . 

He doesn’t hear the training deck door open, but a voice calling out, “End training sequence,” breaks through the haze as all the gladiators freeze and drop through the floor. 

Ro turns to see and it’s  _ him _ — himself and  _ not _ — and he’s aware enough to know who it really is, that this is nothing like the last time they met like this when Ro had been trapped in a nightmare, but it doesn’t matter. He’s  _ done _ . He can’t do this anymore, he can’t keep waiting for the moment when everything unravels. It doesn’t matter that Ro doesn’t  _ want _ to do this, doesn’t want to hurt anyone — especially  _ him _ — but he can’t keep living like this, waiting, waiting,  _ waiting _ . Always waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Ro knows that if he starts and doesn’t  _ stop _ that Shiro will have to put him down. He’ll be forced to do what’s necessary to protect the team because they  _ know enough, _ now, and there are no excuses anymore, no future guilty conscience for their great leader to worry about. 

It’s time to end this.

So Ro turns on him with a roar and charges. And he’s  _ not  _ malnourished, he’s not nearly as sleep deprived as before — he’s been training for weeks and weeks and  _ weeks _ right at Shiro’s side. But that means Shiro knows him too, and it’s still only mere seconds before Shiro catches Ro around the waist — the same, again, just like the last time — and slams him to the floor. 

And that’s good, it’s exactly what Ro was hoping for, but then Shiro doesn’t  _ do _ anything, just holds him down and freezes, eyes wide and afraid even as his grip holds like steel. 

Ro twists underneath him, trying to push him up and off, but Shiro wrestles him back down, pinning his legs and fighting to grab his wrists. Ro evades, punching at his head, kicking at his feet and knees and groin. He pulls hair and snarls like a beast, but Shiro just  _ takes  _ it, lets Ro beat at him until his lungs are heaving and pained, and the hardened, fragile shield around his heart starts cracking. 

Ro fists his hands in Shiro’s shirt and  _ shakes _ him. “Just fucking  _ kill me  _ already!” 

Shiro’s face turns white. “I—” he starts, chokes, but Ro doesn’t give him the chance to finish.

“I’m nothing! I’m just a puppet,” Ro says, wanting so badly to look away from the desperate, broken look bleeding into Shiro’s eyes. It  _ hurts to see,  _ and it’s confusing because Shiro’s supposed to be furious with him, but he  _ can’t _ , can’t think about it, can’t worry about it, because he has to make sure Shiro  _ understands _ . “Just— just get rid of me, tell me to leave,  _ something _ . Let me go before I hurt someone.  _ Please, _ Shiro.” 

The fingers of Shiro’s flesh hand dig into Ro’s chest, throat working around a thick swallow as he shakes his head, just once. 

“Let me go!” Ro shouts. 

“No!” Shiro yells, punching the floor by Ro’s shoulder with his Galra hand, the crack loud and jarring. “I won’t!” Shiro continues, his voice quieter and quieter and breaking more with every word. “I’m not letting you go.” 

Ro’s heart seizes, anger and misery and grief and  _ terror _ all warring for dominance. Shiro’s words are everything he’s longed to hear from the beginning of this horrible mess, but it’s not enough anymore, not when he finally knows the truth. “I can’t  _ do _ this,” Ro keens. “I can’t live knowing I’m just Haggar’s monster.” 

“If you’re a monster then what am I?” Shiro asks, his voice so broken now that it’s  _ ragged _ . “You haven’t even  _ done  _ anything. I’m the one who’s actually killed people.  _ I’m _ her champion, her monster.” 

“I remember every fucking second of it,” Ro rasps, fist connecting weakly with Shiro’s shoulder again and again and again. “I’m still as fucking capable of it. I’m not even  _ human _ .” 

“I’m not letting you go,” Shiro repeats, and it’s raw and wet and trembling. “I  _ can’t _ .” 

Ro’s heart twists over on itself again and then he tangles his fingers in Shiro’s shirt, wrenches him down, and smashes their lips together. 

There’s no sense to it, hardly any thought behind it. He’d thought Shiro would jump at the opportunity to get rid of him and he doesn’t know what to do now that he’s  _ refusing _ . He’s confused and exhausted and  _ shattered _ , and he just needs Shiro to finally see how truly monstrous he is — that he wants  _ this _ , to kiss the person whose whole identity, whose very  _ life _ , he stole — and end everything. 

But Shiro’s fingers tangle in Ro’s hair, arms wrapping around him warm and secure, and he kisses Ro  _ back _ . 

It’s rough, more teeth and tongue than lips; Shiro’s hands press him close and  _ cling _ . There’s just as much need transparent in every movement, mirrored in the pulse of the frantically beating heart Shiro has pressed against Ro’s chest, that Ro feels for  _ him _ . It’s slick and harsh and too impossible to be real, it can’t be, Shiro can’t possibly feel this same aching, world-fracturing thing for  _ Ro _ in return. 

But he’s here, his weight pressing Ro down and anchoring him, solid and warm and heavy, and the quickly-emerging tenderness as Shiro pulls away from Ro’s mouth to start kissing his way down his neck makes Ro wrap his arms tight around Shiro’s shoulders and  _ sob _ . 

Shiro’s arms curl firmly around him and he buries his face in Ro’s neck. 

Tears trail down over Ro’s temples, soaking into his hair and pooling in his ears and he doesn’t care about the discomfort or indignity of it, he doesn’t care because Shiro is here, holding him, shaking minutely in Ro’s arms just as Ro shakes apart in his. It’s terrible and messy and precious all at once. 

There’s a long minute where Ro doesn’t even try to calm down. He has the fleeting thought that he’s earned the right to cry a little, like Coran told him he could, so he does, and Shiro doesn’t say a word, just waits. And when Ro finally pulls in a wobbly breath and blinks away the last few tears, Shiro eases away, gaze flicking back-and-forth between Ro’s eyes. 

“You alright?” he asks.

Ro huffs and shakes his head. “Not really.” 

Shiro watches him carefully for another moment, but then he climbs carefully off of Ro, holding out his hand and pulling him up so they’re seated facing each other. Shiro’s eyes rove over his face, brow pinched with concern, and Ro has to turn away. There’s just  _ too much _ there, too much emotion to confront when he’s already feeling wrung out and even more drained than before. 

“We should get some sleep,” Shiro says, quiet. His fingers tighten around Ro’s briefly before he levers himself up off the floor and tugs on Ro’s hand, coaxing him to his feet. 

Ro follows along silently as he’s led out of the training deck and toward the Paladins’ quarters, rubbing his free hand over his eyes and hoping the others aren’t around to see him like this. It’s not shame, really — he’s never had as much of an issue showing his emotions like Shiro does — he just doesn’t want to deal with talking to anyone else right now, even if only to say he’s fine; he needs some time to calm down. 

He’s so lost in his head that he doesn’t notice they’ve arrived until the sound of a door sliding open filters its way into his ears. Shiro strides through his bedroom and into the bathroom, Ro’s hand still clutched in his. The lights come on automatically, washing them in the dim blue glow of the evening cycle, and Shiro reaches inside the shower to turn the water on, steam quickly rising up to hover like miniature clouds by the ceiling. He turns back to face Ro and plucks tentatively at the hem of Ro’s shirt, looking up at him cautiously. “Is this okay?” 

It shouldn’t be. Even after Keith’s supportive words, Ro hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that this is  _ wrong _ . It’s part of why he’d snapped — the need to be free of all those uncertainties, those fears.

But Shiro hadn’t let him go.

Shiro had  _ kissed him back _ .

And he’s so, so tired, now, all the rage and terror leaked out on the training deck floor. There’s no fight left in him. So Ro only watches Shiro steadily for a long moment, not really assessing anything, just looking, letting that calm, reassuring aura seep over and settle him a little. “Yeah,” he says, ducking his head with a short nod. “It’s okay.”

Shiro leans forward and rests his nose in Ro’s hair, inhaling slowly, and Ro closes his eyes. 

This… isn’t anything like the casual touches they’ve shared before — the warm press of shoulders and hips and knees on Shiro’s bed or the couch in the lounge. It’s definitely not like the roughhousing and playful shoves around the castle or in the pool. It’s not even like that heated, impulsive kiss on the training deck a few minutes ago. It’s soft. Tender.  _ Intimate _ , and Ro’s heart squeezes in a way that’s painful and yet perfectly, satisfyingly sweet at the same time. 

Shiro’s flesh hand slips under his shirt, palm hot on Ro’s stomach, and Ro’s breath whooshes out, hands clutching reflexively at Shiro’s sides. Slowly, an inch at a time, Shiro’s fingertips slide up Ro’s abdomen, the thumb on his Galra hand rubbing soothing circles where it’s braced against his hip every time Ro’s breath hitches. 

“I’m going to take your shirt off, now,” Shiro murmurs, lips brushing against his scalp. 

“Yours too,” Ro murmurs back, tugging demonstratively at the fabric tangled in his grip. 

“Okay,” Shiro says, conceding easily. He moves back enough to pull Ro’s shirt up and over his head and drop it on the floor, then waits patiently for Ro to do the same with his. 

Ro tangles his fingers in the black cloth and carefully eases it up Shiro’s torso, the two of them lifting their arms together to slip the shirt free, and Ro’s eyes are drawn to the scarred expanse of skin that mirrors his own.

He’s beautiful. 

Ro runs his hands from Shiro’s shoulders down to his fingertips, feeling the contour of muscle and bone, the familiar grooves and edges of metal, and the strength and confidence that seeps out from Shiro’s very core. He leans in to press a kiss against the remnants of a burn along Shiro’scollarbone. 

Shiro exhales and tightens his grip on Ro’s hips before sliding his palms inward, moving to undo his belt and giving him a small smile. “Come on. We should get cleaned up.” 

Ro nods, straightening up to press the sides of their heads together briefly, before reaching down for Shiro’s belt to undo the clasp. 

Crouching down, Shiro tugs Ro’s pants and briefs to his ankles, helping him pull out first one foot and then the other, before peeling off his own remaining clothes and adding them to the pile on the floor. He grabs hold of Ro’s hand again and pulls him into the shower, sliding the door closed behind them. 

The enclosed space is already full of steam and the heat immediately starts seeping into Ro’s aching muscles and easing the tension. He groans, tipping his head forward in the spray and letting the water pound on his shoulders and run down his back in warm rivulets. Shiro’s hands come to rest against his neck, hot and soothing, and then his thumbs start massaging into his flesh in delicious circles, making Ro groan again. 

Shiro’s hands move away for a moment and come back slippery with soap. He works his fingers through Ro’s hair, rubbing at his scalp and sweeping loose strands back from his face. It’s so relaxing Ro’s knees buckle and he has to throw a hand against the wall to brace himself. 

Shiro chuckles, sidling closer and wrapping his arms around Ro’s waist. He’s a warm, wet wall at his back and if Ro weren’t so tired it would be a lot more arousing, all that hot skin sliding against his. “Maybe I should let you wash yourself today,” Shiro says. “If you get any more relaxed you’ll fall and I’d rather we not end the night with a head injury.” 

Ro’s lip quirks up and he leans over into the spray to wash the shampoo out of his hair. “Yeah, alright.” 

Shiro pulls away from him then, moving to soap himself up before they trade places and Ro scrubs his skin while Shiro rinses off under the spray. They switch spots again and Ro turns slowly in a circle, letting the water wash away the suds. 

Part of him wants to just stay here in the shower for a while, soak in the heat and let the sputtering water chase away any need to fill the silence. But he knows they need to talk, knows there’s still a lot that’s been left unsaid even if he’s pretty sure he understands what Shiro’s thinking, finally. But he’s been wrong before, and this is too important to keep messing up. So he reaches back and shuts the water off, and Shiro steps out to grab some towels, tossing one lightly across the room to him. 

They dry off and Shiro grabs some sleep pants and shirts for them, pulling on the soft cotton-equivalent before making their way back to Shiro’s room and sitting beside each other on the bed, just as they’ve done so many nights prior to this. 

But not like  _ this _ .

And Shiro must feel it too, the difference, because then it’s quiet in an awkward way, stretching out endlessly around them and offering up nothing. Ro’s not sure where to even start, or if he should even be the one to speak first, and after more than a minute of silence, Shiro hunches over his knees and sighs. 

“This is all so complicated.” 

Ro swallows, hands clasped and hanging between his knees. “Yeah.” 

Shiro laughs wearily and hangs his head, shaking it back and forth. “Yeah, and I fucking  _ hate _ it. My head’s a mess and I don’t even know where to start.” 

Ro huffs out a wry laugh of his own, closing his eyes. “Ready to tell me to leave, yet?” 

Shiro stiffens against him, and then the bed creaks as Shiro straightens up, just as he always does when he’s talking about something serious. “ _ Ro _ ,” he says, and his voice is soft and sad and Ro opens his eyes to meet Shiro’s, finding them stained with  _ hurt _ . “ _ No. _ No, I don’t want you to leave. I never want you to leave, not if you don’t want to.” 

All Ro can do is stare at him. Shiro’s actions over the last half-hour have been convincing, but Ro was right that they needed to talk about all of this, because he still doesn’t  _ understand _ . “You’ve been pissed all week, ever since we found out for sure what I am. You wouldn’t even  _ look  _ at me.” 

“I was pissed  _ for you, _ ” Shiro says, brow pinched and eyes distressed. “I mean—  _ Fuck _ . Okay, yes. Alright?  _ Yes _ , I’ve been pissed for myself, too. It’s just another thing that happened to me, another way  _ she  _ violated me and treated me like a cheap toy she could dismantle and remake as much as she wanted. But it’s not any different for you. It might even be  _ worse _ for you.” 

Ro turns his face away, stomach churning. “Please don’t compare us. I— I do that enough on my own and… trauma isn’t comparable like that anyway.” 

Shiro stills, silent for a moment. And then, quiet and sincere, “You’re right. I’m sorry.” 

Ro’s shoulders sag and he nudges their knees together in silent thanks. “It’s just— All this time, in the back of my mind I had this idea that if I was different from you then maybe all my worst fears about what I am couldn’t be true.  _ Real _ . If we weren’t the same, then…” He sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “I couldn’t even  _ think  _ about it most of the time, though.” 

Shiro nods, a tightly-closed fist sliding roughly against his thigh. “Yeah. I think I get that. But, if I’m being honest, it’s been nice to have someone who understands. Sometimes… sometimes you being so much like me has been nice,” Shiro says, so quiet and hesitant. “Hasn’t it?” 

Ro thinks about all the dreams he’s barely had to say five words about before Shiro just nods in understanding; the ease with which they fight together now, after barely any work compared to any other partners he’s had in the past; the ability and knowledge embedded in his head that meant he was capable of leading this team, even with all the conflict surrounding that. And, slowly, he nods, staring sightlessly through the floor. “I— Yeah. It’s not all bad.” 

Then Ro inhales and turns to look at Shiro straight on, chest tight. “But where’s the line?” he asks. “What’s you and what’s me? What can I accept as  _ me  _ even though it came from  _ you _ , and what parts of you should I let go of?” 

“Whatever you want,” Shiro shrugs.

Ro blinks. “How are you so... okay with this? So calm?” 

Shiro turns to stare off toward the end of the room, resting his elbows back down on his knees. “I suppose… I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. In the beginning, I wasn’t able to  _ stop _ noticing all the ways we’re alike or different, but eventually I forgot to categorize things. It was all just… you. Just Ro. I stopped caring where it  _ came  _ from, I was too busy caring about  _ you _ .” 

He turns back around to look at Ro, then, and his eyes widen in surprise. Shiro straightens up and reaches out his hands to cup them around Ro’s face. “Ro? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” 

Ro’s breath hitches in his chest and he reaches up to scrub at his suddenly hot, itchy eyes, noting almost absently that Shiro’s right — his fingers come away wet. “You— You said I was just some ‘thing Haggar grew in her lab,’” he chokes out, throat hot too as he thinks back to the cruel, furious words spat at him from the person that he’d needed to accept him the most. 

Shiro’s expression falls and then he’s pulling Ro close and wrapping his arms around him, holding tightly. “I know I did,” he says, voice rough. “I was angry and scared and I needed someone to take it out on. You were an easier target than Haggar. And I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” His voice breaks then, wet with his own tears that drip down into Ro’s hair, and Ro snakes his own arms around Shiro’s chest and squeezes back. 

“I don’t think that anymore,” Shiro continues. “I never really did. I hope you can forgive me one day for the way I treated you.” 

Ro presses his face into Shiro’s neck, smearing tears over his skin, and his breath shudders on the way out. “I— I never blamed you. Your reaction was totally justified. I’d just— I’d hoped for something different and it _hurt_.” 

“I know it did, and I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner. Why didn’t you leave?” Shiro asks, hushed. “You wouldn’t have had to endure… all this.” 

Ro pulls back a little, wiping at his face. “Would  _ you _ have been able to leave?” 

Shiro falls silent at that, eyes going hazy as he gets lost in imagining for a moment. “No… No I guess I wouldn’t have.” 

“This is home,” Ro says, tangling his fingers in Shiro’s shirt. “It’s my  _ life _ . If any of you had asked me to leave, if you’d  _ made _ me, I would have left without a fight. But I couldn’t walk away.” 

Shiro nods, shuffling a little closer into Ro’s space. “Yeah. I understand.” He pushes and moves Ro around until Ro’s head is resting on Shiro’s shoulder and their arms are around each other’s waists. Shiro tips his head against Ro’s and breathes out quietly. “So what am I, then? What am  _ I _ , to you?” 

Ro stiffens, but forces himself to relax again. This isn’t an interrogation or an accusation, just a discussion — Shiro kissed him  _ back _ . 

It takes a minute to sort through his thoughts, to calm the nervous pounding of his heart enough to get the words out, even though they’re still messy, confusing. He doesn’t think it matters, though,the whole situation is messy and confusing anyway. “It— It’s different, obviously, because you’re not him, but… it’s like Lance. It’s like it is with Lance.” 

Shiro’s pulse jumps against Ro’s forehead where it’s pressed to Shiro’s neck, and his chest expands with a hasty inhale within the circle of Ro’s arms. “You’re sure?” he asks, breathless. 

Ro chuckles, thinking back on all the moments of sweating palms and butterflies that started making much more sense in hindsight, once he realized. He remembers that four letter word Keith used, and how it had resonated with him, even if he can’t say it himself yet. “Yeah, I’m sure.” 

Shiro moves his arm up to wrap around Ro’s neck, curling him even closer, and turning his head to press a kiss on Ro’s temple. “Me too,” he murmurs, lips brushing feather-light. “You’re so important to me.” 

Ro closes his eyes and leans into him, knowing he can take the weight, and feels his lips curling up in a tiny, genuine smile. “You can’t take it back.” 

Shiro huffs out a laugh. “Wasn’t planning on it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter will just be a short epilogue-y thing. I don't you to be surprised by the extremely small word count compared to all the other chapters.


	8. Chapter 8

Ro wakes up warm. 

He’s in bed, Shiro’s arm slung over his side and their legs are tangled together and, despite the way his neck is cramping, it feels kind of perfect. Shiro makes some sort of snuffly noise behind him, rousing slowly, and Ro twists over onto his back to look at him. 

“M’rning,” Shiro mumbles, check still smashed into the pillow. His lids are drooping lazily, but beneath his lashes his eyes are already bright, pleased, content. 

Ro’s lips twitch and he lets them curl up in a fond smile. “Morning. Sleep well?” 

Shiro hums, arm tightening around Ro’s waist and snuggling close. “You should just— move in. Sleep better when you’re here.” 

Ro can’t help the way his heart rate speeds up at that, but he chuckles and presses a kiss to Shiro’s forehead. “Little fast, don’t you think?” 

“Don’t care,” Shiro replies, soft and sleepy, lips dragging and catching against Ro’s t-shirt. It’s unbearably sweet, so intimate and trusting. “You’re in here most nights anyway.” 

“Hmmm,” Ro says, grinning. “I’ll have to think about it.” 

Shiro pinches his hip and then levers himself up off the bed before Ro can do more than yelp in surprise. “That’s as good as a yes,” he says, grinning back. He looks sleep-rumpled and delighted, and Ro briefly entertains the idea that this is something he could have every morning. Then Shiro adds, “Come on, there’s something I want to do before breakfast.” 

Ro gets up right away in compliance, but nips Shiro on the shoulder and dashes ahead of him to get to the shower first in retaliation for the pinch, laughing at Shiro’s muttered curses. 

~~~ 

Ro doesn’t protest or even ask any questions all the way through the hallways and into the Lions’ hangars, not until Shiro tries to pull him up the gangplank into Black’s mouth. He metaphorically and  _ literally _ digs his heels in, shaking his head when Shiro turns around with a questioning look on his face. 

“I don’t—” he starts, swallowing thickly and dropping his gaze. “What are you trying to do, Shiro?” 

It’s silent for a second, and then Ro’s arm slackens as Shiro walks closer to him, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “I know it’s going to be hard for you, but you two need to talk,” Shiro says, soft and apologetic. “I wouldn’t even come with if I didn’t have to, I know this is private. But it’s too hard for Black to reach you, so I’m here to translate. We don’t have to do it today if you’re not ready, though, there’s no deadline.” 

Ro lifts his eyes, searching Shiro’s expression and finding only sincerity and patience. His steadiness is reassuring and Ro inhales deeply, letting the tension out of his shoulders and wrangling up a wry smile. “No time like the present, right?” 

Shiro’s hand tightens briefly around his again and he gives Ro a small smile of his own before turning back up the ramp, pulling Ro along behind him. 

Inside, Ro looks around and tries to ignore the tightening in his chest, trailing a reverent hand over the violet lights running through the walls as they come into the cockpit. It’s been a while; he wasn’t sure he’d ever be back in here. 

“You should sit,” Shiro says, dropping Ro’s hand and nodding at the pilot’s chair. 

Ro walks forward half in a daze, hands falling without his say so onto the back of the seat and gripping until his knuckles turn white. He runs them down the side of the chair as he walks around and lowers himself into the seat, reaching out and dancing his fingertips over the controls. His eyes prickle with heat and he pulls away before he can latch on, sinking back into the chair. 

_ This isn’t his anymore _ . 

Ro closes his eyes and swallows, breathing deeply. The thought is intrusive and painful, but it isn’t wrong. But that doesn’t mean that Shiro’s wrong either. Ro can do this — one last conversation, a chance to say goodbye, and then he’ll let it go. 

“Hey,” he says, eyes still closed, head bent low. “It’s been a while.” 

It’s silent for a long moment, a listening silence, and then Shiro speaks, soft and as unobtrusive as he can be in the silent cabin. “She says to ask.” 

Ro huffs. “Ask what?” 

Silence again, for a breath. “What you asked before.” 

Ro’s heart clenches, fists tightening on the armrests. “She already answered me. What’s the point in asking again?” 

A pause, then, “She says you didn’t understand. Not completely.” 

Ro wants to snipe, to bite back with angry words, but it won’t help. Instead he forces himself to breathe deeply and  _ listen _ . “Okay. What didn’t I understand?” 

“Your quintessence is… different. But… not that it’s not like mine, because it is, but not.” Shiro groans, and Ro opens his eyes to see Shiro tugging at his fringe in mild frustration. “Sorry,” he says, lips curling wryly. “It’s not always easy to figure out what she means, even when whatever she sends is clear.” 

Ro nods. The memories he has are sharp enough that he understands what Shiro means, though he's never technically experienced it himself. The Lions don’t really communicate with language, so it’s no wonder Ro probably didn’t understand what Black meant with the blurry barrier between them on top of the usual challenges of communicating with her. 

“Try again, Black,” Shiro murmurs, and falls silent, listening again for a minute. 

And then, “ _ Oh. _ Okay, I think I understand.” He opens his eyes and locks his gaze with Ro’s, looking brighter and happier than he did even when he woke up earlier. “You remember that quintessence is a reflection of your inner qualities as a person, right?” he asks. 

Ro nods. 

“Okay.  _ Your _ quintessence is similar to mine — it would have to be, considering everything — but not only is it a little different in  _ essence _ , it’s also different in  _ quantity _ . You don’t have as  _ much _ of it,” Shiro says, and his gaze is willing Ro to understand. 

And Ro… well, he’s pretty sure he does, but he doesn’t know why Shiro looks so happy. 

“I think I get it,” Ro says, running a hand through his hair. “Black requires the most quintessence out of all the Lions and I don’t have enough of it  _ or _ the right kind.” 

“_No_, Ro,” Shiro says, shaking his head and reaching out to lay his hand over Ro’s. “You’ve only got it half right. You _can_ fly Black. You _know _that, Ro, you were doing it for months. You just can’t speak as clearly with her and you can’t keep it up for long. It _drains_ _you, _and Black can’t work at full strength. But you _can_ be her pilot. You can be one of her Paladins, just like Keith still is.” 

Ro stares up at Shiro, heart in his throat. “You mean—” 

“Yes,” Shiro says, nodding emphatically. “Ro, you’re still a Paladin.” 

Shiro gets blurry in front of him as Ro’s lower lip trembles and his eyes well up with tears. He ducks his head, crying freely as he twists his hand to snatch Shiro’s and squeeze tightly. “You’re serious?” 

“Yeah, Ro. I’m serious,” Shiro says, voice soft, but bright with happiness. “You’re a Paladin of Voltron.” 

Ro can’t stop an incredulous laugh from bursting from his lips, lifting his face and grinning madly at Shiro’s obvious delight and relief. “I’m— I’m a Paladin. I’m still a Paladin! I’m on the team!” 

Shiro nods, squeezing his hand again. “And it’s not just Black. Your quintessence is just different enough to be compatible with  _ another _ Lion,” he says, eyes sparkling. 

Ro’s eyes widen, mouth falling open. It takes a moment to get his voice working again. “You can’t be serious.” 

Shiro grins. “It’s news to me, too, but according to Black we’re  _ all  _ compatible with at least a couple of Lions. Apparently, we forced ourselves to jump ahead in the bonding process with my disappearance, but at least we won’t have to worry about being down a pilot anymore, especially if we can ever convince Keith to come back.” 

Ro chuckles, pulling his hand out of Shiro’s grasp to wipe the drying tears off his face. “You think telling him this would be enough?” 

“Probably not while the Blade is still tracking that new quintessence,” Shiro shrugs. “But it’s worth a shot. You wanna get everyone together and tell them all at once?” 

“Yeah,” Ro says, and as Shiro turns to lead the way out, Ro finally curls his fingers around Black’s controls, for once not feeling guilty or ashamed or like he’s desperately clinging to her. It just feels like  _ home _ . “Thank you,” he whispers to her, meaning it more than he’ll ever be able to say with mere words.

Shiro laughs and calls back, “She says ’You’re welcome!’”

Grinning, Ro hurries to catch up with Shiro and they head off to find the others — Ro’s team, his family, his  _ fellow Paladins _ — gathering everyone on the bridge and delighting at the shocked expressions on their faces. But maybe the best part of the whole reveal is when Allura turns to Ro, hands folded demurely, but with a bright, easy smile on her face, and says with absolute sincerity, “Welcome to the team, Ro.” 

Or maybe the best part is when everyone dives toward him for a triumphant, heartfelt hug immediately after. 

Ro’s not sure, but he has time to figure it out. He’s not going anywhere, after all.

He’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://zacekova.tumblr.com/). Feel free to scream at me about this fic, ask questions, request prompts (for this universe or something new), or just talk to me about Shirocest and Voltron in general.


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